The Heroes' Journey
by twopunchmen
Summary: "To what end do I swing my blade?" This was the question plaguing Olberic Eisenberg for eight long years. Once known for a Blade that was Unbending, nowadays his lethargy is unending. A chance visit to a local watering hole would quickly evolve into matters far beyond anyone's expectations, and would set him on the path of answering his years-long question.
1. Sands in the Hourglass

A/N: (I own nothing related to Octopath Traveler)

The following will contain immediate spoilers for Chapter 1, so I highly advise those who don't wish to be spoiled to complete the first chapters of each character before reading.

With that said, please enjoy!

* * *

"Another round, please."

The call from a disheveled man bellied the bartender to his feet, quickly shuffling through his cabinet for another mug. It was a busy night in the Sunshade Tavern, as it was every day. Although situated under the shade of a mountain, the desert air still drove incredulous thirst amongst the populace.

But the main selling point of the establishment was anything but its liquor.

The wry bartender returned to his patron armed with an overflowing container of mead, as per request. The cool beverage was eagerly received, and the deliverer well thanked. The patron took a large swig and let out a satisfied sigh.

The patron wasn't anything like the rest of the customers at the Tavern, and it was clear that he was an outsider. It wasn't because of his thick blue garb that adorned him from head to toe, nor the massive longsword sheathed on his hip, or even the battle-scarred, grizzled expression that rested on his face.

He was a giant. He easily stood at least two meters high upright. That he was clearly muscularly defined and confident only reinforced his aura of dominance in a room. Not even the most drunken of patrons would dare pick a fight with his stranger.

But he didn't come to this place looking for a fight. He did indeed come in from another town, but it was in search of something… or someone. Sunshade was just a pitstop, a place to hang his sword for a spell before moving on in the morning. He didn't imagine meeting anyone of remote importance in this particular town.

"Ooooh!"

The man turned around to focus in on the commotion behind him. From his stool at the bar, he saw many a patron, virtually all male, espouse rousing cheers from tables in the central area. Around them, several female figures were moving about, dancing in every which way they could imagine. Their presence was more intoxicating than the drink, at least to the patrons who quickly downed their beverages as to erase all distractions.

This was in fact the main attraction of Sunshade. Not its treasure nor tall ale. It's females, or specifically, _these_ females.

They were dressed in outfits that left scant to the imagination. They dressed in vibrant colors and expensive jewelry covering their important parts, and little else. They sucked in all the attention within the room and elicited rounds of applause as they moved from table to table.

He had heard tales of this place from men he had once worked with. Sunshade was a popular vacation spot for them, yet he did not know why. He could only blame himself, as he prioritized his work above all other things, and never ventured this way himself. Now he knew why, and while he understood why it was so popular with them, it wasn't his cup of tea.

He noticed even more patrons coming within the halls. Two more figures entered the building. The first was a beautiful woman dressed in a similar manner to the others in the center of the hall. She wore exquisite jewelry and an eye popping scarlet red outfit, if one would call it that. Behind her was an affluent gentleman, dressed in fine threads and seemingly under some kind of spell. He didn't pay them much mind: he turned around and took another gulp of his drink.

' _What am I doing here?_ ' he thought to himself. He wasn't one to pass judgment on the life choices of others, but he wasn't in his ideal habitat. He was fresh on the hells of a promising lead, one that drew him in this direction, and now he has settled in squandering time in the tavern. If he knew this would be the inevitability of his trip, he would have never left his village in Cobbleston.

But he digressed, and looked to the positives. Every step forward is one step he had not yet taken after all these years. Even if it were by kicking and screaming, at the slowest pace his legs could yield, it would be and improvement over the status quo. With that in mind, he relaxed his nerves and let his mind wander.

His mind wandered back to the same familiar scene. One that haunted his dreams for eight long years. He wasn't always like this. In a previous life, he was a proud knight of the Kingdom of Hornburg. None would dare challenge his swordsmanship, and he was dubbed "The Unbending Blade of Hornburg." Back in simpler times, he was known as Olberic Eisenberg.

* * *

" _Hells, is he man or beast!?"_

 _That was the utterance of an enemy soldier, immobilized in the field of battle. Behind him, a squad of anticipating soldiers were at the ready._

 _In front of him, merely a lone knight._

 _One by one, the rearguard would charge forward, only to be swatted down like flies._

" _He's but one, yet fights like a score!" the soldier continued._

" _Gods have mercy… That's the Unbending Blade of Hornburg!" another soldier mentioned, insecurity reverberating as he spoke. "Olberic Eisenberg!"_

" _You know my name. And so to business. Who will be the next to die!?"_

 _The first soldier chuckled. "Its you who'll be dyin'. Look about you-we have the numbers!"_

 _Another enemy soldier called out for reinforcements on Olberic's left flank. Instead, he himself was reinforced by a relief squad of knights, rallying to his side._

" _To Sir Olberic's side, men! The blackguards have had their way for long enough!"_

 _To their surprise, the enemy soldier made a tactical move._

" _Sound the retreat! Withdraw to the rallying point!"_

 _The blackguards quickly ran from the battlefield, leaving the Hornburg forces the victors._

" _Sir Olberic, I feared we would be too late." The knight said._

" _Nothing I couldn't handle. Can you hold this position?"_

" _You make for His Majesty's camp sir?"_

" _Just so. Our foe attacked from both flanks, be we have no orders from the crown. This… concerns me."_

" _His Majesty is well guarded, sir…"_

" _Sir Erhardt is with him. I know this."_

" _There is no stronger knight in the realm. Other than yourself, of course, m'lord. With Sir Erhardt at his side, surely His Majesty is in no danger…?"_

" _Perhaps not. But we must be certain. I would know how the battle unfolds. Besides, word from the king always lifts the men's spirits."_

" _As you wish, sir. We will hold this ground."_

 _With those words, he bid the soldiers farewell._

 _When he finally reached the camp, he was greeted by the desecrated remains of His Majesty's guards. One was noticeably absent._

" _Erhardt!" Olberic called out. "Where is Erhardt!?"_

 _He continued north, until he found his answer._

" _So it was… you…"_

 _Atop the hill, a wheezing, drooped over figure was flanked by a tall, blonde man dressed in red, who gave no response. Instead, conversation was picked up by Olberic._

" _My liege!"_

 _This reaction spurred the blonde man to turn around from his companion and face the speaker._

" _Erhardt! What is the meaning of this!?"_

 _Without saying a word, Erhardt turned back to the slumped figure of King Alfred and, with a single blow of his sword, knocked him down, lifeless._

" _What… What have you done!?"_

 _Erhardt continued the mute game, this time shifting back toward Olberic and, to his great surprise, charged and slashed him with his blade, knocking him back in pain._

" _Have you not eyes? The king is dead, by my hand." Those were the first, chilling words to come from Erhardt, once the twin blade of Hornburg, now guilty of regicide._

" _What madness… What treachery is this!?"_

" _No madness here. But call it treachery, if you will."_

" _I thought you a friend… a brother!"_

 _In a rage, Olberic tried delivering a reciprocal charge toward Erhardt, only to be countered with another slash to his abdomen._

" _Brothers, indeed. How many times did we cross swords like this in the practice yards? And how many times have I told you? I see your every move, your every strike before it falls."_

" _As I see yours!"_

" _Ah, but you've not seen everything. I saved one trick- for the day I knew would come!"_

* * *

That was the day Hornburg fell. The fall of the Kingdom had cost Olberic not only his job, but his sense of purpose in life. He was an advisor in the ways of arms, but his passion had fizzled out, beaten out of him in that failed duel with Erhardt. For eight long years, he was a shell of a man.

Not anymore.

He had recently caught wind of Erhardt's name, which spurred him to leave his humble village in Cobbleston. Victor's Hollow was his sojourn, and Sunshade was the first settlement along the way. Although technically one of two routes to the distant northern town, the southern road through the desert was much preferable to the cold tundra of the north. It was ill-advised to travel through those lands alone, even for an old legend.

He was to finish his round of drink, but something felt _wrong_. He couldn't shake it, but an ill sense of foreboding enveloped the room. He shifted around to see what was amyss, but nothing seemed to be out of order. Only a hooded patron exited the establishment, nothing more.

Moments later, he caught another glimpse of the woman in red from before. She appeared to be distraught and hurriedly made for a set of stairs, unaccompanied.

Something seemed… _wrong_. Olberic didn't know what the situation was or if he was really capable of helping, but his sense of duty spurred him to intervene in times of crisis. He had to go.

He hastily reached into his belongings and left a payment on the counter before taking off himself. He wasn't completely intoxicated: it would take several of those drinks to make a dent in him. He did have to take care not to trip over a short, portly older man, who appeared to have a resting scowl of contempt about him.

Olberic didn't know where he was going, nor did he care. His legs thrust him forward, and marching forward he did. It seemed arcane, but it was not much different from the other day, when he first heard the utterance of the name… _Erhardt._

* * *

Moving out and about on odd hours of the day was nothing new to Primrose Azelhart. As one of the dancers of the Sunshade Tavern, her role set her into an evening shift, causing her to acclimate fairly quickly. Her beauty and elegance made her a star attraction for the show, so her absence would make a noticeable impact. Her years of experience in subtlety proved useful in… _outings_ such as these.

The town of Sunshade was known for its sunshine and pleasure, but it also contained a dark underbelly. Here, beggars roamed the streets unassisted. Women were degraded and treated worse than dogs. There was also an open secret that there was a massive slave ring amongst the dancers and the local authorities were craven or complicit to intervene.

These rumors were true, and she was one of them.

Helgenish, the disgusting portly old man he was, placed metal anklets around all of his "kittens," as he called them, to assert his dominion over them. In this town, she didn't simply work for him. She was owned by him.

She had to keep a low profile: should anyone see her, unaccompanied, they would immediately contact the guards, and Helgenish would find out. But she had to continue: the man with the Mark of the Crow had just been in her sights moments before, and she couldn't afford to throw away the opportunity.

Just as she came to a dark corner of town, she saw two figures. One of them was a hooded figure, with a tattoo along his left arm: the left wing of the Crow. This was the man she was looking for.

The other was Helgenish, in his putrid, dirty flesh. Primrose quickly made way for cover and listened in.

"…You _will_ bring the women I need, won't you, know," came from the left-hand Man. "Competent help is so hard to come by these days. Whatever is a man to do?"

For the first time, Helgenish seemed nervous. "I-I can assure you, m'lord, I am doing all that I can-"

"Helgenish. We are friends, are we not? Friends take care of one another, yes? They do not… disappoint each other."

"I-I will do everything in my power-"

"I saw a fine dancing girl in the tavern. I would rather like such a girl for my own."

Primrose was speechless as the conversation progressed.

'… _So it is as I thought. Helgenish knows him.'_

"Bring the women to the place marked on this map. And…Helgenish? Try not to keep me waiting."

"B-but of course, m'lord."

A map would prove quite useful, she thought. She needed to know more, but the left-hand Man had begun walking away. From the looks of it, he was approaching the Catacombs.

Primrose ducked down and barely escaped the view of her master, before he left her sight and cleared the area for her.

She knew what needed to be done. The man she had waited so long to find had just shown himself, and she couldn't afford to wait around any longer.

But she couldn't do it alone. The anklet wasn't just a signifier of her social caste: it was a counterweight that hindered her mobility. If things came to blows, she would be at a disadvantage for as long as they shackled her. She needed allies… or at least an honest sword who could spare a moment to assist a damsel in distress.

She looked around the neighborhood, hoping to catch any lone guard still on duty, or a sellsword not preoccupied at the Tavern. There weren't too many options from dirty old men and helpless women at this hour. Still, she had to take what she could get, and made a dash for the corner to purvey her options.

As she made it to the corner and prepared to turn, she collided with something hard… and soft?

"Oof!" She reflexively cried out as she was knocked to the ground in the confusion. She pulled herself up and got a better glimpse of what she hit.

The offender in question was a very tall man, clad in blue. He was armed with a grizzled expression and an equally large sword. Best of all, he was _alone._ This was the ideal she was hoping for.

"Are you okay, m'lady?" The man reached down and offered a hand to help her up.

Scratch that. He was better.

"Oh, thank you, noble knight." Primrose coyly took the man's hand and came to her feet. She deepened her voice, turning up the charm to eleven. "These streets are _quite_ dangerous to travel alone for a girl like me."

"Indeed, they do. I've only recently entered this town and I can tell that not all is at it appears."

The man in blue began to turn away, but Primrose couldn't let this opportunity pass her. She quickly reached for his shoulder, regaining his attention.

"Where are you going, sir? Wouldn't you rather spend this evening with _me_?"

"I came this way because I had a hunch something unsavory was going on. It turns out that it was just a hunch, so I am returning to where I was before."

"Oh… but your hunch is correct." She had never once failed to Allure a man, but this one was a tough nut to crack. "I'm in a bind right now, and I need help."

"What kind of help?"

"There's a certain man I need to follow, as so long as I wear these anklets, it's dangerous for me to go alone."

The man turned away and scratched his chin. He gave a few moments to think about what she had said.

"My instincts tell me… that you are right. Lead the way, miss…"

"Primrose," she smiled. "And yours…?"

"Olberic."


	2. Long Time Coming

Olberic could scarcely see anything within the Sunshade Catacombs. Luckily, he had brought his travel gear with him, and within it, his lantern. The enchanted lantern gave excellent vision for the both of them as they descended into the abyss.

Primrose couldn't believe her luck. After countless years of forfeiting her agency and fruitless work, she finally found one of the Crows. Even better, she bumped into a strong gentleman who would assist her in her endeavors. After ten long years, her quest for revenge could begin.

One question did permeate through her mind as they descended down the stairs. Could she trust this stranger? The name "Olberic" sounded familiar, but it was a popular name in the Highlands Region for men of his age, that she knew. After so long, she was forced to accept that none could be trusted, especially men in this town. But she _had_ to trust him. The alternative would be to turn back and face the wrath of Helgenish, an unpalatable option. There was no retreat, for the only path left was forward.

He couldn't be _that_ Olberic.

"Tell me, Primrose," Olberic spoke. "Why is it that you seek this man?"

"A girl has her reasons. Why do any chase after particular men?"

"You seem different from the other dancers."

"How so?"

"For one, you are the only one with a dagger on your thigh."

Her green eyes widened for a moment. She unsheathed the blade from its holster, brandishing it. "My, nothing escapes your eyes. Were you taking a peak down there, _noble knight_?"

"O-of course not!" He thanked the gods it was dim so his blushing would be hidden. "But from my impression, you seem to be above this… line of work."

"Brawn _and_ intuition. I like you already. Very well, I'll tell you while we find a way out of here."

* * *

 _Primrose was not always a dancer. Ten years ago, she lived with her father, Geoffery Azelhart, in splendor. She hadn't a care in the world in her childhood._

 _Ten years ago, was when everything changed._

" _Funny how it works, isn't it?" These words came from a man with a tattoo of a Crow on his left arm. "Everything that happens in this world falls into one of two little categories. Things one's better off knowing, and things one's better off not. Geoffery Azelhart, I'm afraid you've been poking your nose into the latter."_

" _I have only done as my convictions bade me do. I have no regrets."_

" _I thought you might say something like that. You're making this delightfully easy."_

 _Primrose, still just a young girl, could only watch helplessly from behind a table as three hooded men surrounded her father. One of them moved forward and stabbed Geoffery in the heart, killing him instantly._

" _Make sure he's dead, and let's leave this place before we're seen," the right-hand Man advised to the others._

 _She came to know of these men as the Crows. They were marked by the shared tattoos that they brandished. Two of them each hosted a tattoo of a wing on one of their exposed arms._

 _The man with a tattoo of the Crow on his neck, the one who struck down Geoffery, said nothing as the three departed._

 _From that day forward, Primrose vowed revenge against them._

 _As the years went by, her house fell from grace, and she ended up as a dancer in the Sunlands, where she was regularly accosted by her "fellow" dancers, on days such as this one._

" _I wish I had your confidence, Primrose. I couldn't imagine nodding off minutes before my cue."_

" _How nice it must be to be the master's favorite," another spoke._

" _Fine, go on and keep your airs. Act as though you're better than the rest of us."_

" _It doesn't change the fact that you're just another dancer in the sands, Primrose. Nothing but a kept woman, here to flatter the dignity of men who pay for the privilege."_

" _I suppose you're right," Primrose responded._

" _Shh! Enough chatter! Master Helgenish is coming!"_

 _A old, portly, nasty man entered the sleeping chambers of the dancers, clearly frustrated._

" _Do I keep you women to titter here in the shadows? My customers are waiting for their entertainment! The opening act should be on that stage already. Now, get out there and earn your keep!"_

 _The dancers did as they were told and filed out of the room, save for Primrose, who was now alone with the man._

" _What a bunch of useless strays…" the man walked over to her, doting ever so closer. "But not you, Primrose… you are the only one I can rely on."_

" _You flatter me… Master."_

" _Oh, hardly. Why, this tavern's custom has increased tenfold since you stepped on our stage! But do not go forgetting yourself. It was I who groomed you for this role."_

" _And I will be forever grateful for that, Master."_

" _You were an ignorant girl when I picked you up. Completely useless. I've taught you everything you know."_

 _Primrose's silence was not well-received, as the man delivered a clean slap across her face._

" _What happened to your sweet little smile? Who puts a roof over your head, and food on your plate? Who bought the jewels that adorn your neck? Who made you the most sought-after dancer in this dusty old down? It was me-all me. You owe me, kitten. And I'll see that debt repaid."_

" _Yes… Master."_

" _Good then. Purr sweetly, and I may give you a treat. Don't dally when you're done with your show. I will be waiting in my chamber… I'll have you purr for me some more."_

 _A stagehand knocked on the door, motioning to the two that her turn for the stage had come. The dancer walked toward the door._

" _Put your face back on now, kitten."_

" _Yes… Master."_

 _The dancer made her way to the Tavern, a massive building with a grand stage. She had seen this putrid and filthy room a thousand times, and the smell would never leave her mind._

 _She noticed the customers lining up for seats as she entered, clearly energized by her presence. All spotlights were on her as she took the stage._

 _She danced, and danced, gracefully and elegantly. She prayed to her father to watch over her. She had left home, soiled her innocence, and debased herself… to see if that man would show._

 _She heard that one of them passes through this very establishment, and to that end, she spent years here in the hopes that he would appear for her. She endured the praise and catcalls, but tonight, like every other night, she did not see him._

 _After her performance, she noticed an issue with her sandals, and hurried back to her dormitory. When she pulled off the infernal footwear, she noticed a thorn within._

 _The other dancers let out a chuckle as she gasped in pain._

" _Oh, someone fetch her a handkerchief! Primrose seems to be bleeding, the poor dear."_

" _Perhaps she got a blister? She's always dancing oh so passionately."_

 _Yusufa, who had up until now been silent, stepped forward and approached her. "Are you alright?"_

" _I'm fine," Primrose replied. "It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."_

 _Yusufa turned to the group. "Don't you think that's enough already? Do you take such pleasure in others' pain? We're nothing but the master's playthings, all of us! And we all know what happens to the girls who displease him. Or have you forgotten? Beaten half to death and tossed in the gutter. Left for dead, sick and starving._

" _S-stop that! We all know well enough where we stand. We know what he can do to us!"_

" _Then why torment one of our own!?"_

" _Thank you, Yusufa. But there's no need for you to make foes on my behalf."_

" _Prim…"_

 _Their détente was interrupted, once again, by an angry and drunk Helgenish._

" _What are you doing, yowling back here!? Sheath your claws. Its time for work! Or do you think money flows into my coffers by itself? Get out there and collect your tips!"_

 _The dancers once again filed out of the room, but Primrose was stopped exclusively._

" _What was that sorry show you gave today? Do you think I'm blind? One glance was all I needed to know your mind was not where it ought to be. I can see every thought in that pretty, empty little head of yours, and they were not of dancing tonight. You haven't forgotten your debts, have you? You haven't forgotten who owns you. You know the fate that awaits you if you dare defy me. Don't you, kitten?"_

" _I'm warning you because I care, Primrose. I wouldn't want to see anything untoward happen to my shining star."_

" _I'm sorry, Master. Forgive me. I was simply remembering the first day I came here to you."_

" _Oh, were you know?"_

" _Not a day, not a moment passes when I am not thankful for all you have given me. Pray forgive my lack of focus today, Master. It will not happen again."_

" _Oh my dear, dear Primrose. I, too, often think back on the day you came to my door. Just imagining the sight of you dancing for me, as sweet and innocent as you were… It tickled me so. And you met my every expectation. You have been my best investment. But tonight, you have displeased me. And for this, you must atone. The crowd is looking thin tonight. Out on the streets with you, and bring us some custom. Custom with coin enough to cover a week's expenses. If you can do that, I may still… go easy on you… At least, relatively so, kitten."_

" _You are kind, Master."_

 _Right outside, Yusufa was laughing. "Bravo Prim, that was a performance for the ages. How do you do it? I want to vomit every time I have to call him 'Master.'"_

 _This genuinely surprised Primrose, and even more so when she offered her own handkerchief for her foot._

 _This act of gratitude was not without appreciation, but Primrose had a job to do: to allure a gentleman._

 _This was quite an easy task. She encountered a rather wealth gentleman exiting the inn and, on his way, and intercepted him. After a short conversation, and some light seduction, he was hooked, and followed her to the Tavern._

 _To say the least, Helgenish was pleased, and encouraged her to continue her work._

 _As the room continued to be filled by more and more patrons, she caught sight of a suspicious individual. He was hooded and had a bare left arm, one with a Crow tattooed on it._

 _This was the man she had been waiting for, and her heart was racing._

 _She wanted to move toward him, but he got up and left the building. She started after him, but was stopped by Helgenish._

"… _And where do you think you're going? So curious about that man, are you? Was it love at first sight, kitten? You wouldn't think of abandoning the stage and your customers before the night is through, now would you? Back to work Primrose… You do remember what happens to the wicked little kittens who cross me, don't you?"_

 _All but defeated, Prim lowered her head and walked back, as her Master exited the building._

" _Prim? What's the matter?" Yusufa came to console her. "Its not like you to look all flustered like this. You don't need to tell me. For you to risk angering the master like that, it must be something important… Leave it to me. I'll keep his eyes busy. You slip out the back door on the upper floor."_

 _Primrose was shocked. "You shouldn't get involved. You will put yourself at risk."_

" _Look, Prim. Maybe you don't tell me what you're thinking. But that doesn't matter to me. I'm on your side and always will be."_

" _On my… side?"_

" _When the other girls would pick on me, and tell me to know my place… You were always the only one who stood by me. You never say much… But I know you just don't want to burden the others with your troubles. I know you better than you think, Prim. And I know that deep down, you have a good heart."_

" _A good heart? Yusufa… I… Thank you."_

* * *

"I see… so your chance encounter with me was entirely within your plan. My deepest apologies for not showing the proper respect for a Lady of the House." Olberic smiled to himself as they moved forward. She, too, was on a path of revenge and retrieval of her honor, in her own way. It was a cause he was all too familiar with.

"Yes, and whoever this man was, he is sure to have aid somewhere."

"Aye. You've proven yourself quite talented with the blade on those lizardmen back there."

"And yourself. You brought them down with a single blow. Those scars aren't just for show."

"I do have one question. Suppose we do find this tattooed man... What do you plan to do about your 'master?' If the other men you seek are distant from here, he wouldn't take kindly to your departure."

"This dance has been a traveling performance of mine. I never planned on staying here forever. I will escape, one way or another."

The both of them were diligent in cutting down every beast they came across. Although their battling styles were different, they soon found a rhythm that brought them down efficiently. It wasn't long before they reached an illuminated staircase leading to the surface.

"Thank you, Sir Olberic. I will take a peak from the top to see if the coast is clear. You may wait back here."

"Be careful, I feel that a trap lay in wait."

* * *

The clearing wasn't what Primrose expected. She recognized where she was: it was a sandy cliffside, just outside Sunshade. It was close enough for her to make out, but far enough away to be isolated from the world.

Almost.

"And where might you be off to, kitten?"

She turned around, to be greeted by an unwelcome face and his thugs.

"Master… Helgenish… Whatever are you doing here at this hour?"

"Funny you should ask… A worthless little stray, this one, but she was kind enough to help me catch a rat."

His guards pushed forward the beaten and battered Yusufa.

"Yusufa!"

"Prim..." she panted. "I'm… I'm sorry…"

"She was quite intent on keeping her mouth shut. But my boys helped her get it open. It seems I was too lenient with the girl. I won't make that mistake again."

He brandished a dagger, and slit her throat on the spot. With the deed done, he kicked the body down to Primrose's feet.

"Yusufa!"

"P-Prim… I've never… heard you… shout so… Hey Prim? We're… …nds… aren't we?"

"Wh-what?"

"I was… I was sold… to this place… as a child… Everyone was so cruel… so miserable… I thought id never… make any… friends… it was lonely… having… no one… but you, Prim… you were… different… Always... standing tall, proud… no matter… how hard… your days… Looking… at you… it gave me… strength…"

"Yusufa…"

"Tell me… Prim… Were we… Were we… friends?"

"Yes, Yusufa. You were… my friend."

"I'm so… happy… Not alone… anymore…"

The light left her eyes on the desert sands.

"Is it finally over? I must say, at least her last performance had some life. If she'd shown that sort of potential earlier, I might have kept her on longer…"

"Enough!"

"…What was that?"

Primrose would have nothing of it. She stood and faced the man she had, up until now, called Master.

"I have danced enough for you. This was the last night that I belonged to you."

"Oh, was it now? So, some wheels do turn in that pretty little head of yours… Here I thought it was a waste as empty as the desert."

"I saw _you_ for the foul swine you are the first time I laid eyes on you."

"You would take that tone with me!? You're nothing but a stupid whore! You would have died on the street if not for me!"

"You have given me nothing. I have always danced on my own two feet. I have always chosen where I step."

"Who do you think you're speaking to, whore!?"

"All these years… The jeers, the beatings, the dishonor… I endured it all. All for this day. The day that man appeared before me. I need your stage no longer. I dance for myself now."

"Primrose… You forget yourself, little kitten. But I understand, this is just your little show, yes? You wanted to see your master frown. Fine! Very well! You've had your fun. That naughty mouth of yours belongs to me. Put it where it belongs, and if you please me to my satisfaction… I will overlook your impertinence."

"Master… go pleasure _yourself_."

"Heh… Wrong answer, kitten. You know what I do with cats that bite, don't you? I put them down. Just like that one. It's a shame, Primrose. You were always my favorite… What a waste. Yes, a terrible, terrible shame…"

"The only shame... is that I couldn't do this sooner, Master!"

Battle was joined. Helgenish, sitting pompously on his throne, threw daggers at the dancer, who evaded them with ease. Her years of training would make her a match for any single man.

But Helgenish was not a single man.

From left and right, Prim was surrounded by his goons. They didn't seem bright individually, but their numbers weren't something she could take alone.

But neither was she alone.

As the first henchman charged for her side, he was met by the collision of metal.

"Wh-who are you?"

The sword in blue pushed him back, before delivering a singular knockout blow with his longsword.

"Olberic!"

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, m'lady. I thought it best for you to reclaim your own honor."

Both warrior and dancer turned to face the remaining enemies. "Indeed. The fat oaf is my prey. Stay out of my way."

"You misunderstand me," Olberic said with a grin. "My fight is not with him, but with these gentlemen beside us."

"Is that so? Then let me give you a little reward."

Primrose began striding around Olberic, chanting indecipherable words and making elegant strides.

' _Dancing? I'm not that kind of- woah!_ '

For reasons unknown, the warrior felt a renewed sense of power and agency.

"Incredible! I feel more powerful than before!"

"That was the Lion Dance. Now, go get 'em."

Meanwhile, the lackeys were speaking amongst themselves, clearly still distraught at the fate of their comrade.

"Did you see that? He knocked him down in one swoop?"

"What kind of man can do that?"

"Did you hear her? She said 'Olberic…' As in…"

The poor soul never finished his thought, as his last moments were filled by a level slash from the aforementioned man's blade.

Helgenish himself was growing increasingly irate. He never thought that this day would ever come, and putting down one of his kittens would be so increasingly difficult. One by one, his hired hands were being slashed down by the combination of Primrose and this "Olberic" fellow, and each blow left his hand clenching his wine glass ever tighter. Hatred, frustration, jealousy… all vile emotions coursed through his veins, and it showed. As the last of the lackeys fell, he angrily threw the glass, shards and all, at Primrose.

"Insolent ditz!"

She caught the movements just in time, dodging the shards and all, but one glass piece cut her ankle.

"Gah!"

She wondered how she could be so slow, so careless. But then she looked down and remembered what was there: the anklets. Emblematic that she belonged to another. They weren't heavy by any means, but they proved enough resistance to delay her movements.

She so desired to get her sweet revenge, but the pain in her leg forced her to her knees to tend to her wounds. The sand blowing in the wind brushed on the cut, which made matters worse.

Helgenish now entered a blind rage, with the same fire in his eyes from the moment he executed Yusufa. Primrose knew what was next.

"Are you alright?" Olberic asked, taking a position in front of her, sword at the ready.

"Watch yourself. He's about to lash out at all of us…" Her thoughts trailed as she tried to think of a solution to their predicament. She knew that swords would be ineffective against her "Master," and any effort with them would accomplish little in immobilizing him. If only she weren't in this pain, her dagger could go straight through him.

"Olberic, do you have any weapons other than your sword?"

"Hmm?" he replied. "I have one other, as a matter of fact."

"Hit him with it, and hold nothing back."

He nodded, and sheathed the longsword. From his back, he pulled out another impressing weapon: a long Polearm, a weapon of modest quality, but wielded expertly. With weapon in hand, he charged at the craven fiend, stabbing him multiple times.

It worked.

The slaver was knocked off his rocker, in a complete daze of his own from the spear wounds. Her words held true.

With the confidence of their success, Primrose slowly rose to her feet, ignoring the jolting pain in her side. She raised her dagger, the precious family heirloom of her House, and ran toward the enemy. She let out a flurry of stabs, with the last one proving decisive.

Helgenish was now on his knees, held up only by his free hand on the sand, while the other cupped the slash marks across his torso. Behind him, the bodies of his lackeys were lain. He rose his head to meet the woman who brought him to this fate.

"Primrose…" he called out. "You were always… different from the rest… The fire in your eyes… it burned brighter than any other's. I have seen many a girl in my years… but none… quite like you. You fascinated me… from the start…"

It was clear that he was stalling for time, but Primrose relaxed her guard anyways. He slowly inched closer toward her, still groveling.

"Come, Primrose… Won't you dance… one last dance for me?"

She was speechless, letting out a huff before turning her back toward the disgusting old man. Even Olberic was surprised by the amount of contempt he could feel from her eyes.

Seeing his opportunity, Helgenish slowly rose to his feet, brandishing his stiletto. It was at this juncture that his last act of revenge could proceed. He charged directly at her back.

Without breaking a sweat, the dancer turned around and dashed by him, leaving a fatal stab into his heart. It took a few moments, but the effects finally kicked in, and with a horrid screech, the slaver of the Sunlands collapsed to the floor, finally meeting his demise.

"Quite the dancer yourself in the end," she said.

Primrose bent over his lifeless form and pulled out a piece of parchment. "Guess you won't be needing this anymore."

She continued. "The village of Stillsnow… I'll need to pack some warmer clothes. And with that, _Master_ … I do believe my debt is paid."

She began walking away, but Olberic saw something gleaming in the sands. He bent down and pulled it up. It appeared to be some sort of silver key.

"Lady Primrose, I think you'll want to see this."

"Hmm?"

She turned around and saw the object within his hands. She made a mad dash for the knight and took it for herself. To her eternal glee, it was a perfect fit for her anklets. The kitten was finally free of her collar, and never felt better.

"Thank you, Olberic…"

"Urk!"

Both turned to see the source of the commotion. It turned out not all of them were dead.

"S-sir Olberic…" one of the lackeys sputtered. "Olberic… Eisenberg… Unbendin… Blade… gurk!"

That was all he could make out before finally passing out, but it was more than enough.

Primose was spooked. This man was _Olberic Eisenberg_? The Legendary Knight of Hornburg? He was her hero growing up, and she never tired of hearing tales of his heroics. They brought a ray of hope on even her darkest days, yet here he was, fighting for her emancipation, of all things. It was hard to believe, but after seeing him with the blade in action, if anyone could fulfill that role, it was the Olberic beside her.

How did it not dawn on her?

But she couldn't understand why he was here. He was said to have died in the fall of Hornburg, eight years ago, in defense of the King. How, then, was he still alive, and what was he doing in the _Sunlands_ of all places?

Never mind that, the man in blue was walking away toward Sunshade, as if his deed was done.

"Wait, Olberic!"

He stopped walking, turning slightly to acknowledge her request but not facing her entirely.

"I should have known before, you were _that_ Olberic! Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"My job here is done. You have your freedom, and are more than capable of handling any challenge to cross you."

Even with her anklet gone and additional resources, Primrose wasn't entirely sure that his statement was true. Yes, Helgenish was quite the paper tiger, but judging by his interactions, the left-hand Man struck clear fear into him. There was no telling how many of these thugs were between her and him, but it was evident that she couldn't handle this alone. She needed allies.

"I don't understand why you're so distant all of the sudden. You were… you are my hero."

"I am no hero, nor do I do justice for the tales attributed to me. I'm a relic of a bygone age."

He continued walking toward Sunshade, but Primrose, ever so persistent, continued after him.

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

Just as a side note, I was indecisive about the color of Primrose's eyes. In some concept art, they're green, but in others, they're brown. I went with green and am sticking with it for consistency's sake. It's a small detail, but they add up.


	3. Answering the Call

Did he make a mistake?

No, he didn't. The girl deserved her freedom. _All_ of those girls did, regardless of how cruel their actions were. The show he saw from that fumbling pervert was evidence enough.

But why did he rush to her side?

Because it was the right thing to do, he thought.

But what about it compelled him to swing his blade?

These were just a sampling of the thoughts Olberic explored as he walked through Sunshade once more. It had been almost a full day since his battle with Helgenish, and he needed a drink to recharge his batteries. He never planned on spending so much time in a rest stop, and a lewd one at that, yet here he was.

There was one silver lining though. It seemed that the Sunshade Tavern was already under new management once he arrived. The dancers were still there, but they seemed much livelier, and their anklets were absent as well. They even replaced the shady gentlemen with a bouncer, who did seem a bit off as he walked in. Perhaps he was drunk?

The scene seemed almost like the phenomenon of déjà vu. He entered, and pulled up on a barstool on the bar awaiting service.

"What can I do you for, sir?"

He looked up, and saw a new face. This bartender was different from the one before.

"A flagon of your finest ale, please."

"Certainly. That will be fifty leaves please."

The knight reached into his purse, not thinking much as he prepared to make his purchase. However, his hand had trouble finding anything. He looked down, panicked as he was, to find any sort of currency on him. After a minute, he finally found his money.

He had a hundred leaves left.

He came into town with three thousand. Not an enormous sum, but enough to last a few towns at least.

He searched his thoughts hard for the discrepancy. Then it hit him.

In his haste the night before, he remembered slamming some leaves on the counter to pay for his drink before his exit. He only had one mug, but was going to leave a generous tip. Instead of leaving a hundred leaves and saving twenty-nine hundred, the reverse happened.

A generous tip indeed. And said bartender was nowhere to be seen.

He now had two choices: pay for the ale, or save enough for a night in the inn before moving on.

"What's done is done, Olberic." He sighed to himself and gave the bartender his leaves. He accepted them graciously and walked off to prepare the beverage.

The warrior brought his elbows to the table, gripping his hair through his fingers while facing downward in frustration. This town didn't seem well-policed, so there might not be an objection to him sleeping on a nice rock, just this once, he thought.

"Are you going to buy me a drink?"

He jolted up, looking for the source of that familiar, sultry voice. Even a seasoned warrior like him could get spooked, apparently. He turned to his right, and found his answer, seated next to him.

"Primrose? What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that, big guy," she purred, bringing an elbow to the table while cradling her chin in the palm of her hand. "I thought this type of establishment wasn't your cup of tea."

"Same to you. You are no longer bound to this place. I'd take that this town has nothing but bitter memories for you."

"I'm afraid I'm quite low on leaves as of late. Up until recently, I was a slave… until a brave _hero_ emancipated me from my pervert of a _master_. We don't make a lot of money under those circumstances."

"I only remember a determined woman seizing freedom for herself back there."

"Aww, you're no fun." She made a pout, which even Olberic could tell was fake.

"Here's your mead, sir." The bartender came back, drink in hand. "Ah, Primrose! Business is booming today, thanks to you, as always. Anything you want is on the house tonight."

"Thank you," she purred huskily. "A glass of Noble Merlot, if you don't mind."

"I didn't take you for having such refined tastes," Olberic added as the bartender went off again.

"I grew up in Wine Country. My upbringing was far from modest."

There was a deadpan of silence as the two waited until after Primrose's drink was delivered. Olberic was keen on drinking, as half of his flagon was gone by then. He wasn't exactly savoring his last meal.

"May I ask you something, Olberic?"

"…Yes."

"Why are you being so distant towards me? You've proven yourself to be an incredibly stubborn nut to crack, especially since our last battle. What happened?"

"Let me ask you a question first. How am I to know that this isn't part of your routine? Is this just part of your job, to entertain guests, but for your own labors this time?"

"…No. This place holds no bearings for me. Everything since now has been for my own intrigue. The one thing I've learned in this town is to value trust above all other virtues, and I'm being entirely transparent with you."

"I see. Then please accept my humble apologies for my behavior. I, too, am wary of trusting comrades in arms."

She gave a slight smile. "Then tell me Olberic, what's your thing?"

"My what?"

"Why do you swing that massive blade?"

"I… do not know."

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly as it sounds… Can I trust you with a tale?"

The dancer nodded. He let out a sigh as he began to reminisce, on the other day…

* * *

" _Always the same dream…"_

 _Olberic woke up from his slumber, still plagued by the same scene every night, the scene of the fall of Hornburg. These days, he made his home in the Highland village of Cobbleston. Not long after, he heard knocking on his door._

" _Ah, Philip. What is it?"_

" _Crivens! How did you know it was me, sir?"_

 _Philip entered the household. He was a boy, not a day older than eight, but with an attitude of a fighter._

" _One must always be on his guard, even when he rests. Yes, a knight-" he paused, catching himself mid-sentence. "No, I am no knight. Just a man with a sword, and nothing more…"_

" _If you say so, sir. But there's lots of men what carry swords that can't do half of what you do! Oh, I almost forgot, sir! The headman's lookin' for ya. Says he wants a word. He didn't say about what."_

" _Tell him I'm on my way."_

" _Yes, sir! I'll go on head and let him know, sir. He'll be in the square-you know the one."_

 _Philip left the room, leaving Olberic to his thoughts._

' _How many years has it been since Hornburg fell? My liege lost, my land in ruin… I wandered aimlessly. After a time, I came to this village. Here I earn my keep as a hired sword, hiding behind another man's name. Defending the villagers from bandit raids, teaching young men how to handle a blade-not a glamorous life, but it puts food on my plate. A man like me knows only the battlefield. Worth only as much as the blade at my side, and the arm that swings it. When that blade fails to save my sworn liege, what does that make me? For years I've asked my self that question. No answer still-at least, not one I like. One thing I do know is that I owe this village a debt. A debt I intend to repay.'_

' _But that's enough brooding for one morning. The headman's waiting.'_

 _He left his humble home, and was greeted by two young watchmen._

" _Berg, sir!"_

" _Dawn patrol, sir. Nothing to report!"_

" _Good to hear it," was his reply. "Two of you today? Usually only one man does the rounds?"_

" _Aye sir. Headman thought it best. There's brigands in the hills of late."_

" _Poor merchant gutted for his coinpurse just yesterday. Was a grisly sight, sir."_

" _These are dangerous times. One can never be too careful. I hear the headman is looking for me."_

" _Ah, he mentioned that, sir. He should still be over in the square."_

" _Now if you'll excuse us, sir… Morning patrol, resume rounds!"_

 _Both young lads resumed their patrol as Olberic made his own errand._

 _He met the man, a seasoned old gentleman with whom Olberic was quite familiar. Next to him was Philip's own mother, a frequent friend._

" _Ah, Berg. There you are."_

" _Good morning to you, sir," Philip's mother added._

" _Morning to you both. Philip said you wanted to speak to me."_

" _Yes, yes," the headman replied. "I'll get straight to the point. We've had reports of bandits in the hills."_

" _I see you've doubled the patrols."_

" _Yes… I was hoping to ask for your aid. With bandits lurking, the villagers daren't venture into the hills. We cannot check the traps, nor collect firewood… It's quite the predicament, to say the least."_

" _Leave it to me. Where can I find these thieves?"_

" _As for the precise location of their den, I fear I cannot say. I sent some of the men out searching, but… In the meantime, could you put the militia through their drills? Our men are keen, but they don't know a pommel from a pike, if you get my meaning."_

" _Consider it done."_

" _Ah, sir?" Philip's mother added in. "If t'would not be a burden, might my Philip join in the training?"_

" _If he is willing, so am I."_

" _Oh, he's more than willing, sir, I assure you. Been pesterin' me for weeks to ask you!"_

" _That's a brave lad!" The headsman was impressed, to say the least. "The boy has pluck, and ambition. And he could find a worse man to look up to than Berg here."_

" _Ever since my husband died… in the war, you know… It's just… the boy's getting to that age, when he needs a father…"_

" _Berg" was speechless, to say the least, but he did not feel offended by the sentiment. He too looked fondly after Philip, as if he were one of his own._

" _Oh, no! I did not mean to say-"_

" _Your boy is already a credit to the village. It would be my honor to train him."_

" _You are too kind, sir."_

" _It's settled then. Train the lad well, and see that he does his mother proud."_

" _I will."_

 _At that moment, the two young Watchmen approached Olberic, ready to begin sparring. The master-at-arms gladly engaged them in their drills, and demonstrated the importance of offense and defense._

* * *

 _He had seen them off, when Philip ambushed him from behind._

" _Sir! Me next, please!"_

" _You are not ready yet. You need to work on your form."_

" _Aww."_

" _Do the drills as I showed you, and you'll be sparring soon enough. You have talent, lad."_

" _I do?"_

" _Not many boys your age take to the sword so quickly. And I've trained my share."_

" _Crivens! Th-thank you, sir. My father… He's, you know… gone, sir. Died in the war."_

"… _So I've heard."_

" _Mother's looked after me ever since. All on her own, sir. But soon… soon I'll be a man grown! And it'll be my turn to take care of her!"_

" _She is a lucky woman to have a son so brave."_

" _So you see why I've got to get stronger, sir! I have to protect Mother, and everyone in the village. After all she's done for me, I owe her that much!"_

' _I, too, once had someone to protect…' he thought to himself._

" _Sir?"_

 _Berg snapped out of it. "It's nothing, lad. Just old memories. Keep at your training, and you'll be a strong man before long."_

" _I will, sir!"_

* * *

" _Brigands!"_

 _Olberic had only just begun his round of patrols when he was approached by a frightened villager._

" _B-berg sir! Brigands from the hills!"_

 _That was all he needed to charge up to the edge of the village, meeting a group of brigands with his Watchmen._

" _Damn it all!" one of the brigands said. "These swineherds know how to fight!"_

 _The veteran warrior came to the aid of his two watchmen, commending them for holding them off._

"… _And who in the hells are you supposed to be?"_

" _He's a bleedin' fool if he thinks he can take us all."_

" _So ye's got a fancy blade, eh? I know yer sort, hedge knight. I've cut down my share o' yer betters._

" _I'm tellin' ye…" another Brigand added. "This one's trouble."_

" _You both have the right of it. I'm but a common hedge knight, with no name to speak of. But if you've come looking for trouble… you've found it."_

" _Stow it, or I'll cut out yer tongue!"_

" _Enough prattle! Let's skewer 'im!"_

 _The brigands weren't much of a challenge for the "hedge knight." He easily dealt with them, to their shock._

 _He was prepared to deal with the last of the brigands, when he heard a scream from across town._

" _Help! My boy!"_

" _Let me go, you ugly-ngh!"_

 _Olberic let the fiend escape as he investigated._

* * *

 _As it turned out, it was indeed Philip who was taken by the Brigands while Olberic was distracted. From the words of the Watchmen, they were based in the mountains to the north of Cobbleston. They could only speculate what they would do to the poor lad. He looked around to his Watchmen, and saw that they were all battered from the recent raid._

 _In order to secure the safety of the village, "Berg" volunteered to rescue Philip himself, so the Watchmen could defend against a possible counterraid. He ordered the rest to guard the village until his return, which was reluctantly accepted by the headman. Berg gave his word to Philip's mother that her boy would return, and he would do it._

 _He fought his way up until the hole in the wall that was the thieves' den. He confronted the brigands, who were boisterously overconfident for their numbers and home-turf. Still, they questioned how a simple hedge-knight could wield the blade like he did, but Berg wouldn't have any of it._

 _He easily dispatched the men at the front, and progressed his way through the hideout. He battled brigands and bats alike, eventually coming toward the rear, where multiple flames could be seen. He ducked behind a corner, listening in on the rambling._

" _Do tell me about this friend of yours. Knows how to fight, does he?"_

 _The man asking the question was much larger than the rest. He wore a horned helmet and fur cape, denoting his importance._

" _H-he sure does!" Philip adamantly replied. "He's stronger than all of you put together! You wouldn't stand a chance!"_

 _The rest of the brigands erupted in laughter, save the inquisitive one._

" _I-its not a joke! Stop laughing!"_

" _Ye hear that, makes?" One of them said. "This hedge knight's the strongest blade in the realm!"_

 _Another added, "Gwahahaha! If he thinks he can best all of us, he's more madman than knight!"_

" _This ain't a fairy tale, boy. Real knights don't piddle away their days in the company of swineherds."_

" _If he's a knight from the stories, a damsel in distress might serve as better bait. Reckon we should go back for the mum?"_

 _The brigands' sick laughter filled the cave. It was insufferable, but he had to press on._

" _S-stop it! You won't be laughing when Sir Berg is through with you!"_

" _Sir Berg! Now there's a frightenin' name! Look, me arm's a'tremblin'!"_

" _Shut up, all of you!"_

 _The boss-man had enough of the gossip, and all eyes were on him._

" _Boss Gaston?"_

" _Reckon the boy's got more courage than the lot of you-an' more wits, to boot. So less yammerin' and more sharpenin' your stabbers!"_

" _B-but, Boss. Ain't no way the hedge knight'll follow us here. 'Less he's mad an' all."_

" _Aye. It ain't like its his own son or nothin'. Why should he care?"_

 _Philip lowered his head. Anyone could see his heart sank._

 _Gaston turned to the lad. "Why, indeed? Things could get interestin' though, if he does show. Always had a soft spot for men with more courage than sense… Like the boy here…"_

 _He crouched down, getting on Philip's level, in a mock-tone. "What do you say, laddie? Care to join our little family? We're always lookin' for men with pluck."_

 _Philip backed away instantly. "I'll never join you! I'm going to be a brave warrior… like Sir Berg!"_

" _Ahahaha! You hear that, men? The boy says he's too good for banditry! Thank you're the only one who feels that way, boy? Let me tell you somethin'-"_

 _Suddenly, Gaston cut off in mid-sentence._

" _What is it, Boss?"_

 _In this moment, Olberic couldn't wait around much longer. He dashed into the fray, standing between the brigands and Philip._

" _Sir!"_

" _Sorry I'm late, lad. Got held up along the way."_

"' _Ey look! It's the mighty Sir Berg, in the flesh!"_

" _He is mad! An' how'd he get in here, anyway!? Where are the lookouts?"_

" _Bleeding in the dirt, last I saw."_

 _All the grunts took a step back. Gaston, however, was riled up and bellied laughter. He charged straight for Berg, without warning, which was barely parried by the "hedge knight."_

" _Sir!"_

" _Stay back!"_

" _D-did he just-? He parried the boss's blow!"_

" _Hang me, but I ain't never seen no one do that afore…"_

 _Gaston was also impressed. "You're quick, all right… and strong. Clearly no common hedge knight, are you?"_

" _Just as you are no common brigand."_

 _Olberic took a moment to reflect on the blade being weld by the brigand leader. It looked familiar._

" _That blade…"_

" _Like it, do you? It just so happens to be a present… from an old friend."_

 _He couldn't believe it._

"… _Erhardt!?"_

" _Oho! You know the man, do you know?"_

" _So it is his blade..._ _As if I needed another reason to cut you down where you stand…! How do you know Erhardt, rogue…? Speak, or I'll slice your throat!"_

" _Hah! Ye've got a score to settle, is that it? I can see it in your eyes. They blazed like fire when you said his name. Look, I don't know what passed between you and Erhardt… But if you're lookin' to ask questions of me, my good sir… You'll have to earn the right!"_

 _Battle was joined. Olberic wasn't alien to fighting multiple fighters at once, but this time was different. Gaston himself was more than a match for his blade, and the added brigands pushed him beyond his natural limits._

 _He parried blow after blow, but some did make it through, and he took damage. He endured it for as long as he was able, and cut down each of the brigands one by one, until it was just him and Gaston._

 _With all of his energies, he raised his blade and let out a horizontal slash, knocking Gaston back._

 _" **My blade... is unbending!** " he cried as the blow was delivered._

" _I… I yield." The brigand leader was on one knee, propped up only by the sword gifted to him._

" _Now I will have my answers. How do you know Erhardt?"_

" _We fought alongside each other is all. Served together in a band of mercenaries. He was already an old hand when I signed up. Helped me out, showed me the ropes."_

" _A sellsword… And where is he now?"_

" _Damned if I know. When our group disbanded, we went our separate ways. After that, I drifted from one town to the next. Tried one trade, then another. But swingin' a blade's the only thing that's ever come natural to me. So here I am. Time's are lean, and a man's got to make a living."_

" _Anyone could use a sword arm like yours. You could protect the people, instead of stealing from them."_

" _Aye, I could. But honest work takes more wits than the gods saw fit to bless me with. Never meant to do anyone no harm… But life doesn't always give us a choice in the matter, does it?"_

" _Choice or no, you must answer for your crimes."_

" _Aye, I know the score. But I've got my men to think about, too."_

 _Outpouring of support and pleading came from his fallen comrades. Even among thieves, there is honor._

" _Easy now, men. The hedge knight has the right of it. I've got more than enough blood on my hands. Live by the sword, and… Well, you know how it goes. A man has to own up to what he's done."_

" _Enough blood's been spilled here today. Surrender, and I will see that you and your men are not harmed."_

" _You do me a kindness, hedge knight. An' so I'll do you one in return… I told you I didn't know where Erhardt is. An' I don't. But I know someone who might. Gustav's his name. Sir Gustav. Some call him the Black Knight or other such fussed-up nonsense. Erhardt taught us both how to use the sword back in the mercenary band. You should find him in Victor's Hollow."_

" _And this man will tell me where Erhardt is?"_

" _He might. Then again, he might not. Still, if you want to find him that much, I reckon it's worth tryin'."_

 _Olberic was speechless, but grateful._

 _Gustav continued. "I saw your eyes, hedge knight. They were dead, like a fish. But the moment you saw my blade, they came to life."_

" _Dead? Have I truly been…?"_

" _Heh. But what does a common thief know of men's souls?"_

 _Not long after, the Watchmen dashed into the chamber, relieved to see Olberic and Philip._

" _Berg! Thank the gods you're safe! The villagers are as well, sir." Came from the first._

" _Round up the thieves, and lock them up in the village gaol!" Said the second._

" _Berg…" Gaston seemed to catch on to this name. "I could swear I've heard that.. Gods be good! Eisenberg! Should have known it, the way your eyes lit up at the mention of Erhardt's name… Aye, you're no hedge knight. You're Sir Olberic Eisenberg, the Unbending Blade."_

 _Friend and foe, child and adult, all lit up at the revelation of that name._

" _The Unbending… Blade?" One of the Watchmen asked._

" _They said he was slain when Hornburg fell…" one of the brigands said._

" _I've heard he lived, but scarce believed it… until today."_

" _Is it true, sir?" Philip finally asked. "Are you… a real knight?"_

" _Long ago, lad. Long ago." Said Olberic. "Let's be on our way. We've kept your mother waiting long enough._

* * *

 _For the last time, Olberic brooded within his abode._

' _This village has been good to me. But it's time to move on. I shall find Erhardt… so that I might find the reason I wield this blade. To find a man named Gustav. And, gods willing, Erhardt himself. Victor's Hollow, the man said. That's where I must go.'_

 _He stopped to look down on his attire. His deep navy-blue armor and uniform vastly contrasted with the humble brown gi that he wore for the previous eight years._

'… _I had stopped believing that I would one day don these clothes again. The journey will be a long one, and I've no more reason to tarry.'_

 _And so, he stepped forth and made for the edge of town. But he stopped to explain himself to the villagers first._

"… _So you truly mean to leave us." The Headman said._

" _You have shown me nothing but kindness. I am forever in your debt."_

" _It is we who owe you, friend. Were the choice mine to make, you would stay with us forever. But it is your life to live."_

 _The Captain of the Watch also stepped forward. "We won't ever forget all you've done for us, sir."_

" _The next time any dirty brigands come after us, we'll give 'em a good kicking in your name!"_

" _We're no knights, sir, but you've taught us well. We can protect our home, at the very least."_

"… _Glad to heart it." Olberic was proud. He had planted seeds for trees that he may never live long enough to see bear fruit, but these saplings were a good omen._

" _I'm sorry sir," Philip's mother pleaded. "Philip… he wouldn't come. Didn't want you to see him crying, most like."_

" _I understand. Tell the boy I am counting on him to grow strong, and to look after his dear mother."_

" _Thank you, sir. I will."_

" _When you've done whatever it is you must do, pray come back and visit us. No matter how far your journey takes you, you'll always have a home here."_

" _Thank you. And with that, I had best-"_

 _Thwack!_

 _Olberic turned to find Philip had ambushed him, charging him with his wooden training sword._

" _Philip!" his mother called out._

"… _It's alright," Olberic reassured. "That was a good blow, lad! You're getting strong."_

" _I'm going to keep training while you're away. Then… when you come back…! I'll be even stronger! And then…! Then… maybe I could…!"_

 _The poor boy was holding back tears. Olberic remained stoic, but internally emphasized with him._

"… _Aye, lad. I'll get stronger, too. And we'll see each other again. You have my word."_

 _Philip cried into Olberic's chest. "You… you better not forget! A knight… a knight always keeps his word…_

* * *

"…and so, I set out on this journey. Not just to find Erhardt, but to also discover what I had lost… The reason why I wield this blade."

To his genuine surprise, he could tell that Primrose was hooked on every word. It wasn't just the sparkle in her eyes. No, she hadn't a sip of her wine since he started. She realized this too, so she took a large, desperate sip. Olberic as well saw his ale growing warm, and took a large chug.

"I wasn't wrong about you on one account. You truly are a noble knight. Everything that the rumors say."

He remained silent, so she pressed on.

"So, you buried your identity because you're ashamed of your failure and fall from grace. I can relate, you know."

"It's more complicated than that. Olberic Eisenberg stood for virtue, for justice, for king and country. None of those things still remain, yet I do. I'm reminded everyday that the people of Hornburg lay scattered and battered, while I, who pledged to protect them, still roam the realm as its last knight. What purpose does my blade bring?"

"Olberic… don't fret about it too much. All I know is that I was once a damsel in distress, and you came to my aid. Even if your mind didn't know why you do it, your legs brought you to me, and your arms came to my defense. You may not know why yet, but your heart does, and that's all that matters."

"Truly… thank you, Lady Primrose."

"No need to be so formal, _Sir_ Olberic. I'm your friend now."

"My… friend."

It had been to long since he heard those words.

"Anyhow, it's curious that you're heading toward Victor's Hollow. It's not far from Stillsnow, which is my next destination. Since we seem to work well together, I was suggesting we travel together?"

"The Frostlands are dangerous… and I fear that I may fail to protect you, just as I did my countrymen…"

"Then let me protect you."

"Huh?"

"You shouldn't have to take the burdens of the world entirely upon your shoulders. I will gladly share in the struggle with you, just as you have done for me."

"I cannot possibly ask that of you, especially after everything you've gone through..." He took a moment to ponder how he would continue, and considered all sides of her proposal. But then recent events refreshed themselves in his mind, and formulated doubt. "Answer me this… how do I know you won't end up leaving a knife in my back? How can I be assured that I won't share the same fate as your master?"

"You don't. However, I can easily reassure that you are nothing like him."

She drove a hard bargain, he thought. But she wasn't done.

"I also have a question of my own. You've spent years lying about your identity, lying about your skills, and devoted yourself to a life of humility, all to protect your life. How can anyone see that your convictions fly true? How can I know you aren't just some craven like the rest of _his_ lot?"

"They can't," he smiled. "They can only pass judgment through my actions. My mind may not know my purpose, but my heart does."

She smiled back. They had more in common than either of them thought before.

"Very well, Primrose. From hence forth, I pledge my blade to you."

A flash in her vibrant eyes conveyed her genuine pleasure. "And my dagger to you, Olberic."

"But still, I may prove a dead-weight to you. I'm nearly spent. My last leaves were spent on this ale in front of you."

"Olberic, there's something I'd want to share with you, from my family..."

"I'm sorry to intrude…" the tavern keeper made a surprise appearance. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. You're quite the fighter, aren't you sir?"

"Suppose I am," Olberic replied.

"I've heard that you're in a bit of a financial bind. I know of a quick way to get you some leaves, if you're interested."

"In this town, that can mean many things. I won't accept any dirty leaves."

"Oh, I assure you, they're completely clean, if you consider me such."

"You have yourself a deal. What is it that you need?"

"I recently hired a bouncer to keep watch on this Tavern. He's a talented fighter, which was why I hired him, but he's gotten complacent. He's done nothing but drink on the job ever since he started. I don't want to get rid of him, I just want some sense knocked into him so he can do his job."

"And you'll have me do it since an ordinary sword wouldn't be up to the task."

"Precisely."

"Consider it done."

' _That's the Olberic I've always looked up to._ ' Prim thought to herself, proud that her new ally had turned over a new leaf.

* * *

"Greetings, good sir."

Olberic was now outside of the Tavern, and quickly found the bouncer. He was much worse than before, with his posture now mangled, and his breath more odious.

"Oi! You dere! You got sumthin' to 'ay?"

' _This is going to be good._ ' Primrose took a position several feet away, eager to watch the hysterics to unfold.

"A duel, fair and square, to arms!"

Olberic did something unusual. He unbuckled his sword sheath and leaned it against the side wall. He then took a fighting stance opposite of the bouncer.

"A duel? _Hic!_ Come 'ere you!"

The bouncer attempted to stand upright. Despite his clear intoxication, he still was impressive. He was as tall as Olberic, and just as muscular. He was a few years his senior, but only time would tell if that would set either of them back.

Olberic made the first blow, throwing a left hook for his jaw. The bouncer fell back, reeling in the pain, before throwing his own punch toward the gut. The knight had to clench his chest in reaction.

Both men continued to punch each other. They traded blow for blow, both looking more and more beaten up as it went on, with little variation. One punch connected squarely with Olberic's jaw, causing him to spit out blood on the steps. He retaliated with a blow to the bouncer's teeth, which knocked one out.

"Hah!" another blow connected with the bouncer's stomach. It made an impact, but he bounced right back.

"'ave at you!" the knight could feel the blow on his ribs. If he weren't wearing armor, they would've been cleanly crushed.

' _Calling this stupid doesn't do it justice_ _...'_ she thought to herself.

It wasn't clear who was winning… or losing… until the bouncer finally fell on his back in defeat.

"Yahoo! You did it!" Primrose cheered for the victor, who gave her a thumbs up.

"You most certainly did." The tavern keeper came out from his corner.

"If he had been sober, I would have certainly lost." Olberic was humble, even in victory.

"Indeed." The tavern keeper walked over to the defeated body of his bouncer. "Let this be a lesson to you, sir. Try not to drink on the job."

"Y-yes sir…"

Olberic was surprised to see the several thousands of leaves handed to him by the keeper. It was multiple times larger than the sum he had set out with, and for that he was grateful.

Just as he was about to leave, the bouncer made an embarrassing attempt to stand up. "Oi sir, are you a professional?"

He turned to face the drunkard. "In a previous life, I was. Those days are far behind me."

"You'd make a fortune in the ring. Victor's Hollow 'as lots of men like you."

"Is that so?"

* * *

Nothing starts a day off right than a good night's sleep, which was precisely what Olberic woke up to. The wounds from the previous night were gone, and he was completely renewed.

For the first time in years, he also was spared of that same dream.

He exited the inn, only to find Primrose waiting for him, with her hands on her hips and a seductive smile on her lips. He tried not to think much on the latter: he was more than ready to leave the town of temptations.

"Good morning."

"Morning…" He re-examined her, checking to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. "You… are content with wearing those garments?"

"What's wrong with them?" She twirled around, letting the lengthy red tabard flow with her. "I may not be a slave, but I'm still a dancer. I can still find use for these talents."

"Stillsnow will be very cold. I hope you have some sort of preparation."

"It will be easier to find proper attire the closer we get. Besides, I found a much better investment with those leaves."

"…A better investment?"

"Look over there."

Olberic followed her eyes and saw a pack mule tied to a nearby fence. It was brown and seemed fairly young.

"How many leaves did you spend?"

"Not all of them, just a few thousand… it's been many years since I've owned any leaves of my own, you know."

"That's just…" _Wasteful. Extravagant. Vanity._ These were the words he wanted to use to describe such a frivolous waste of resources. For him, only the necessities were worth the leaves, but he had to put himself in her shoes for a moment. Besides, it may prove useful later on. "…wonderful. Have you given it a name?"

"I named her Octo. She was the youngest of eight mules."

"A fine name."

Primrose did a little twirl as she waltzed toward Octo. Olberic noticed that the jewelry around her neck was different. It was a slight difference, but the design in the golden necklace was not what she wore the night before. It looked much too expensive for all the leaves they received from the tavern keeper, that was certain. But it was much more tasteful and elegant: it had a natural look which complimented her. That would be an icebreaker for another time.

"Well? Are you going to assist me?"

Primrose stood by Octo, waiting patiently as her arms were crossed. She eyed him over to the mule, motioning for assistance.

Olberic exhaled and took a position by the mule's side. He received Primrose's hand as she stepped upward and rested on the mule's saddle, firmly seated. Olberic tied his belongings to the saddle, which was a relief on his shoulders, and then grabbed the reins and led Octo to the town gates.

"Our next stop should be Clearbrook." Primrose looked diligently at her map, making the odd suggestion as the thoughts occurred to her. "I hear they have excellent apothecarial goods."

"Consider it done."

"Oh, and Olberic?"

"Yes?"

"I know it's not a realistic now, but one day, I want to see Cobbleston. I want to see the people you've impacted."

"…As you wish."

* * *

A/N: ...and Exit, Sandman! We're almost out of the desert. (for now)

Hope you enjoyed this one as well. More variations and shenanigans are in store.


	4. Axing for It

Taking the road to the west, Olberic led Octo, with Primrose aboard, across the barren wastes of the Sunlands. Their only company where the spattering of Lizardmen and overgrown ants that occasionally attempted to make them their quarry, but all shared the same fate.

What surprised him was that Primrose wasn't just skilled in the dagger. She also could call upon deep, dark magics that were very effective against these enemies, who were acclimated to the light. It made brushing them off all the easier. She didn't even need to dismount from the mule to perform those spells.

"This mule was an excellent investment," she said, gently stroking Octo's mane. "Walking around in these sandals is cumbersome, even in the desert."

"If you say so," he replied.

"What makes you say that?"

"The Frostlands are home to some fierce predatory creatures. Even if we were capable of fending for ourselves up there, our companion here would be a near-constant target."

"I'm not concerned. We will cross that bridge when we get to it."

Suddenly, her knight-companion stopped walking in his tracks.

"…Uh, Olberic? What's the hold up?"

She looked around her, and then beneath her.

They had reached a bridge separating the Sunlands and the Riverlands, with a powerful blue river coursing beneath them. He gave his companion an innocuous look.

"Not _this_ bridge," she groaned.

He said nothing, and continued leading Octo across.

* * *

The Riverlands were a much welcome change of scenery from the Sunlands. Lush grasslands and temperate weather were welcome, and the river provided a much-needed source of water for the three of them. Octo was freed on the shore of a nearby river while Primrose stretched her legs.

Olberic created a makeshift campsite nearby with a couple fallen logs and seemed to be preparing some sort of lunch. The menu consisted of grapes and wheat bread, with a plum for each of them. He was surprised when his friend gave a disinterested look at her plate.

"Don't like the grapes?" he asked. "They're essentially chewable wine."

"It's not them. It's the bread… carbohydrates aren't exactly flattering on a girl's physique, you know."

"They're only bad if you don't use them. Perhaps you could walk them off."

He could see daggers in her emerald eyes. Still, she gave a knowing smirk right back at him.

"I guess I'll have to just work it off later then. Would you care to watch?"

He hurriedly turned his back to her, not letting her relish in the victory of his discomfort. "That won't be necessary."

They continued to eat in silence. They both rather enjoyed the food, despite its mundanity. Olberic broke the silence just as he finished up.

"I have a question, Primrose."

"Go ahead."

"So, you don't know the identities of these three 'Crows' that you are chasing, save for the tattoos on their persons."

"That is correct. I know only that one of them works in Stillsnow, but I can likely beat information out of him that will lead to the others."

"And when you meet them, you will kill them, with no questions asked?"

"Nothing less, they will share the same fate that they inflicted upon my father."

"Will you remain so resolved, if any of them are well-acquainted with you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I sympathize with your quest for vengeance, but I have also been betrayed by a man who I once called brother. Should the occasion arise where the Crow you cut down also held a place of familiarity with you, could you still remain steadfast in that commitment?"

She was at a loss for words. Olberic resumed eating, believing he hit a nerve, and left her at peace.

"…Say Olberic, I suggest you should take a dip in the river."

"What are you trying to say?"

"The desert air isn't good for your skin. I was also going to bathe, but I was told that I should 'work off' some of this meal." She flashed a wink at him, which irritated him, but he did bring this upon himself.

"…Fine. I won't be gone long. I'm not the best at swimming."

He walked off toward the edge of the river, and began peeling off his armor in a relatively secluded area. The dancer looked on, keenly searching for details as more and more of his armor came off. She wasn't ogling his physique, she reminded herself.

As the tunic finally came off, she was able to get a good look at his arms. Both of them were clean. Phew.

Unfortunately, he felt uneasy about being watched, and craned his neck to show his frustration. "I thought you were going to work off that meal."

"S-sorry, Olberic."

She was caught in temporary shame, but accomplished her mission. There wasn't a tattoo on his body, just scars. He wasn't a Crow. He could be trusted.

With her mind at ease, Primrose began practicing her dancing routines. Her body felt much more flexible and agile with those accursed anklets off her legs, and that opened up the door for more complex movements and experimentation.

She started off with the Lion Dance, strutting along with loud, boastful movements. These movements were fairly stamina-draining, and it would prove invaluable to minimize the costs if she were to travel with Olberic for a while.

As she practiced, she could feel her movements deviate from the norm, but they didn't feel out of place. Her movements became more boastful, more flamboyant, and mysterious. It was like the Lion Dance, but its character and feel were entirely different. It ended with a heightened sense of power within her fingertips, but not of the physical variety.

She'd call this new routine "The Peacock Strut."

"Nyeh!"

She couldn't celebrate long, for Octo gave out a distressed cry. She turned to see the mule, and why she was in danger.

Two large, blue-green, frog-like creatures were across from the mule, with spears at the ready. They were bigger than Primrose herself, and they were very hostile. They were known as Froggen.

Worst of all, Olberic was gone, but she was confident she could handle herself. She'd need to use her new dance though.

Dance she did, as all of the Froggen thrusts missed their mark on her lean and limber body. With preparations complete, she uttered dark words, and a Night Ode came down upon the monsters, volley after volley, until they finally collapsed.

* * *

"What have you done?"

The fresh, clean Olberic had finished his cleansing, and even Primrose had to admit he smelled much better. How much of it he did in his little village, she had no idea, but she would insist this would be a regular occurrence for as long as they traveled, at least.

Now, the knight was kneeling down, inspecting the husks of the Froggen in their camp. They all had dark scorch marks, indicative of magic.

"I told you, this was my workout."

' _If this is a workout, then I shudder to see her in all-out battle._ ' He thought.

"I suppose it's my turn for a dip." Content with the end of her work, the dancer confidently strode to the river, brushing off the sweat from her brow. "And remember, lookin' isn't free."

He hastily turned away. She giggled at how easy it was to tease him.

* * *

Olberic remarked on how handsome the hamlet of Clearbrook was. It was a small town, with homes and people that were quite similar to the folk back at Cobbleston. A noticeable difference was the quality of land. The area was much flatter and more riverine, and thus had much more farmland than his home. He could only imagine how the difference would affect his companion as well.

At least Octo was excited. The young girl was sniffing the grass in anticipation. Prim had to stroke her mane to regain her focus.

"Easy girl," she whispered into her ear. "We'll let you roam free soon, it'll be just a little longer."

Octo was led to the side of the local inn, located in the center of the village, where she was to be left. Luckily for them, the innkeeper hosted a large plot of land, which was perfect for the mulling mule. It freed the dynamic duo to stock up on supplies, and other things.

' _Maybe this gentleman knows about Erhart, or Gustav…'_ Olberic thought as he saw a couple of guardsmen by the local dock.

Meanwhile, Primrose saw a hooded figure near a back alley, but it was just an old man throwing out his trash. It was worth a shot.

They did some digging, acquiring some supplies at the general store, but upon asking for apothecarial goods, they had less success.

Apparently, these goods are custom-made, by the two local apothecaries that reside in the town. Olberic thought it wasn't a big deal, since they collected everything else they came to the town for, but Primrose pressed on. They could inquire on the local townsfolk where these apothecaries lived, and commission their services, to which he relented.

They walked through the central square, and were pointed towards a house to the side. This was where one of them resided, with his sister. They moved over there to knock on the door, but a singular figure exited before they could do so.

The figure had disheveled blonde hair tied up behind him, and was wearing a green vest with a white line along the hem. He carried a satchel around his shoulder, with what appeared to be an axe on his hip. Most significant of all was the disturbed look on his face.

That expression changed when he saw the two of them.

"Hello there!" He said.

"Are you by chance one of the Apothecaries in this town?" Primrose asked.

After taking a second look, his eyes popped open and he immediately strode toward the dancer, taking her hand within his. "Why yes, Alfyn's the name, Apothecary is my game. I'd love to help you… but I have a specific patient I need to help, and time isn't on my side."

"Perhaps we could be of assistance," Olberic chimed in.

The young Apothecary eyed the man in front of him, and saw the massive longsword on his hip. He raised his arms in jubilation. "Yes! By the Gods, you can help! I could use a strong sword-arm where we're going. The Caves of Rhiyo are pretty gnarly."

' _If that's what it takes to get some of his goods…'_ Primrose mused to herself. "Lead the way."

With no time to lose, Alfyn raced for the trail that would lead to those caves. He had not explained what they were, or why they were going there, but nevertheless the pair didn't yet regret giving their blank-check. This was just another townsperson in need of aid, just like the tavern keeper, they thought.

"Alfyn, maybe on the way there, you can tell us what you need, and why?"

"Of course! I actually need some venom."

* * *

 _Alfyn's path of an Apothecary began at a young age. He was struck ill as a young child, when a traveling Apothecary came to his village and cured his illness, all for nothing in return. Inspired by this selfless act, he dedicated himself to becoming an Apothecary and paying the kindness forward._

 _One morning, Alfyn had gone through his usual routine. An old man was suffering from an ailment, and he visited his house to administer a cure. The granddaughter was relieved at his prowess, and eternally grateful for his work. Keeping in line with his hero, Alfyn refused to accept any compensation for his work, and moved on with his day._

 _In this day and age, Apothecary is still a young science, and with illness and disease rampant, the people rely on their ointments and drugs._

 _Alfyn took a break to return to his usual roost: the town graveyard. There was one tombstone he commonly frequented._

"… _Mama. Did you see me, Ma? I whipped up an antitussive elixir like you wouldn't believe! Can't believe its been a year already… Am I any closer to being the man I want to be? The man he was…"_

 _Just then, another gentleman of about Alfyn's age approached him from behind._

" _Alf! I've been looking all over for you!"_

 _The blonde turned around, meeting the man._

" _Heya, Zeph. Done for the day?"_

" _Yes, only two patients today. Having you around sure eases the burden… If only I could convince you to keep giving out discounts."_

" _Aww, c'mon. The poor gal has enough trouble looking after old Alek. I can't very well take what little she has."_

" _Hah. I'm just teasing. You know that's what I like about you. If the villagers are healthy and happy, that's more than good enough for me."_

" _Haha, couldn'ta said it better myself."_

" _We may be new to this, but between the two of us, this village is in good hands."_

" _Sure is. Plagues? Epidemics? Bring your worst!"_

" _I'm counting on you, Alf. We all are. Who'd have thought that little troublemaker would turn out to be a top-notch apothecary, eh?"_

" _We can't all be born with a silver pestle in hand, Master Zeph."_

" _Your mother would be proud."_

" _Maybe…"_

"… _Anyway, I should be getting back to Nina."_

" _Yeah, beat it. Head on home, big brother."_

 _Zeph began to leave the cemetery, but stopped to ask a final question._

"… _Hey Alfyn? We've been friends ever since we were small, right? I know you better than anyone, so be honest… You're keeping something from me, aren't you?"_

 _No response. Zeph pressed further._

" _I'm right, aren't I? Alf, the truth is-"_

" _Master Zeph!"_

 _Both Apothecaries were interrupted by a villager._

" _Master Zeph, you must come quickly! It's… it's your sister!"_

 _The two of them rushed off, finding Nina in Zeph's house, lying on the bed unconscious. Ever since their parents had been taken by illness when they were young, Zeph had been raising Nina alone. He cherished his sister and would do anything for her. Alfyn also grew close to Nina, and she was something special to him._

" _Hmm, these look like bite marks," said Zeph. "Hey Alf, would you look at these too?"_

" _Sure thing buddy."_

 _He did his own investigation and saw the marks in question. The bites looked as if the offender was poisonous. Curing poison was easy enough provided the Apothecary knew what type of poison it was and where it came from. He made a remark that it would be simpler to resolve if they could ask Nina how it happened, but alas, life was never that easy._

" _Damn it all! What foul beast did this to my Nina!?" Zeph shouted in helpless frustration._

 _Alfyn volunteered to ask around the village, gathering what clues he could while Zeph watched his sister. Part of being a skilled Apothecary wasn't just knowledge of the trade. They also developed social capital amongst their peers, quickly transitioning into casual conversation, a skill he learned in this village. He quickly found Lily, a close friend of Nina, by the river._

 _After a brief conversation, Lily divulged that Nina regularly went to pick water blossoms for her brother. It was in a nearby cave… and there was a giant serpentine monster that lurked there. It was amber, with blotches on its back… which meant it was a blotted viper. He commended their courage, and reassured her that everyone would be alright._

 _They say that knowing your enemy is half the battle, and that was done earnestly. They only had to acquire the viper's venom, and to say it was easier said than done was an understatement._

" _Time is of the essence," Zeph said. "The poison is spreading through her veins as we speak. I must prepare an antidote with all haste. But I need to get my hands on the original venom. There's supposed to be a nest of vipers in the Cave of Rhiyo, yes?"_

" _Yeah," Alf replied, "along with plenty of other nasties… Reckless ain't the half of it."_

" _I know, but what other choice do I have?... I'll leave at once. Look after Nina for me."_

 _Zeph got up and prepared to leave, but Alf stopped him before he could collect his axe._

" _Hold on, Zeph."_

" _Hm?"_

" _You look after her. I'll go."_

" _Alfyn, are you mad? I'm responsible for Nina- I won't let you risk your life like this!"_

" _Don't worry about me. Now go back to your sister's side."_

" _I swear, have you taken leave of your-"_

 _Suddenly, Nina began to stir in her slumber._

" _Uhh… Zeph… where are you…?"_

 _Both turned to her. Zeph called out to her. "Nina…!"_

 _He ran to her side. "I'm here for you, Nina!"_

 _She called out softly. "Will you… hold my hand?"_

" _See, Zeph?" Alfyn interjected. "She needs you."_

 _Zeph needed a moment, before finally conceding defeat. "Thanks, Alf. Come back safe, you hear?"_

* * *

"…and that's the gist of it."

The trio had reached the entrance of the Cave of Rhiyo just as Alfyn finished up his recollection. They encountered many of the more aggressive beasts along the way, yet none of them could were a match for the professional travelers. Olberic had a keen respect for the man's ability with the axe, a weapon he grew an increasing admiration for.

"I see," the knight said. "So, your cordiality with us despite the pressure of the situation was in fact a reflection of your training."

"Yep! Nothing kills me more than to see my best friend's sister dyin', don't get me wrong, but a steady hand is key to an Apothecary's success."

"By believing in yourself, you make it possible for others to do the same." Primrose added. "It gives them the will to live and overcome illness."

"Spot on! Even if that fails, keeping a patient stable keeps the illness from exacerbating, to say the least. I've seen too many go under due to their own panicked state."

' _There's more to the Apothecary than meets the eye,'_ both of them thought.

"However, the issue with a blotted viper is its deadliness. Flame take me, but even a seasoned veteran cannot take one alone. You should never approach one with any less than a party of two under any circumstance…"

"Which is where we come in," said Olberic.

"You got me. I'm well-equipped to provide immediate relief for the poison if I catch it quickly enough, but those vipers are really strong. They don't need the poison to kill any of us."

So, they continued through the cave, checking every nook and cranny for the viper. They found lesser snakes, but none of them were of the color or size to match. After every battle, Alfyn would be seen inspecting the bodies of the beasts, and sometimes pocketing some items. The others thought little of it.

Eventually, they came to a lit clearing. They found blue flowers, and Alfyn charged in immediately.

"…Lookie here. A patch of water blossoms. This must be the place!"

He crouched down, checking his surroundings as he examined the flowers. Olberic and Primrose also walked closer to him as he worked.

"Not just a pretty sight. Makes a good bitters, too. No wonder it's Zeph's favorite."

The three could only admire the great lengths Nina went to for her big brother. But a hiss could be heard from behind them.

They were confronted by a massive snake, amber colored with dark blotches on its skin. Alfyn stepped forward.

"And if you ain't just the fellow I was looking for… sorry to drop in unannounced. Say, don't suppose you could spare a nip of snakebite, could ya?"

"Be careful, Alfyn," Primrose cautioned. Olberic had his sword arm at the ready.

The viper could only hiss at the blonde. So much for diplomacy.

"Oh, no, don't get up. I'll help myself."

The viper only hissed more at the green man.

"Well shucks, if you insist… But let me give you a hand."

Drawing his trusty axe at the ready, Alfyn made the first move: a broad strike on the viper. It hissed in pain, but it seemingly did little damage. It tried to bite the Apothecary in retaliation, but he escaped just in time.

Primrose uttered some words, and unleashed a Night Ode on the beast. It recoiled in damage, demonstrating its effectiveness. Olberic too tried slashing it with his sword, but the attack bounced right off.

"Learning to battle with different types of attacks is going to take a while," he said.

"Experimentation is my specialty," Alfyn added. "Leave it to me."

The Apothecary sheathed his axe and, to everyone's surprise, began digging into his satchel. He pulled out a couple of herbs and started playing with them… in the midst of a battle.

Had he lost his mind?

"Alfyn, get rid of those flowers! We have a battle!" shouted Primrose.

"But getting rid of them is _part_ of the battle!" he said.

He threw the concoction at the viper with complete disregard. Suddenly, the beast recoiled and shriveled. It didn't look very well.

"What did you do?"

"It's only a minor concoction. The poison won't last very long, but it'll hurt for as long as it's there."

"Incredible," came from Olberic's mouth. He'd want to learn more about this magic, but he'd have to survive the battle first.

The knight sheathed his blade and unfurled his Polearm. He made several thrusts aimed at the beast's mouth, with some connecting.

The dancer retained her volley of dark magic, further writhing the viper. Things seemed to be going well for the group.

Until, that is, the Viper started lashing out.

Abandoning its defensive posture, the Viper rapidly lunged at each of them, leaving a bite on their arms.

They felt it in their veins: they were poisoned.

"Flame take me, we don't have much time left," said Olberic.

"Is there anything you can do, Alfyn?" said Primrose.

"I have an idea, hold on." He reached into his satchel once more, pulling out more plants and his pestle. Frantically, he churned and mashed the ingredients in his hands, until finally he looked satisfied. With a bit of dramatic flair, he divvied up the mixture amongst the group. It tasted like stale rocks, but the poisonous nausea dissipated.

"Okay, time to finish off this monster," he said to himself as he pocketed his belongings. There was a blue flair about him as his hands moved, and from beneath the ground, a pillar of ice struck the viper. The cold-blooded monster shriveled instantly, and collapsed on the ground.

"Sorry, my hand slipped." He walked over to the now-dead Viper, gripping one of its fangs. "What's that? Take all the venom I need?"

He pulled the large fang from its maw, and pocketed the trinket.

"…Don't mind if I do."

With their task done, the group left the cave.

* * *

"The venom…you really did it!"

Zeph was overjoyed at the return of his friend, not merely because he was still in one piece, but also at the gift of the viper fang.

"I trust you can take it from here, eh?"

"I'll get started at once!"

The young Apothecary got to work at once, to save his sister. With his job done, Alfyn went to his abode to get some rest. Olberic and Primrose looked on with approving smiles.

"He's going to become a fine man, one day." Primrose stated.

"I agree." Was Olberic's response.

"He'd make a fine addition to our caravan."

He turned to her, checking to make sure she was serious. She was.

"Do you truly wish to endanger this boy?"

"You've seen his skills. He's a decent Apothecary with invaluable medicine, and he's not half bad with an axe to boot. We can use all the allies we can get."

"Aye… but let's be realistic. He's too much an asset to this town. We couldn't possibly rip him from those that need him."

"I don't know about you, but there was something about his eyes when he hacked through those beasts back there. Let's wait until morning, _Ric_."

The last line was delivered in tease. It was new, but not something he couldn't work with.

"Very well, _Prim_."

* * *

Morning came quickly, and the reflection of the morning sun on the river was exquisite for Primrose. After years of dancing in the desert, she had long missed the lush greenery and natural color. It would do them well to check in on Alfyn and make sure that the medicine worked.

They knocked on the door of Zeph's abode, the one where they first met Alfyn, but there was no response. Undeterred, they made their way around town for him.

Toward the edge of town, they found him at a surprising location: the graveyard. There, he was standing next to a young man and laughing. They assumed it was this "Zeph" he told them about.

"Good morning, you two!" He called out to them, rushing to their side. "Good news, the venom worked! Nina is as good as new!"

"That's good to hear," said Primrose. "You two are quite talented Apothecaries. This town is lucky to have you both."

"You're making me blush," he said sheepishly. "So… I take it you two are heading off now?"

"Yes, we have a trek to the north."

"That's incredible… I was meaning to ask you guys, but I'm not sure how to put this, but… Could I travel with you two?"

Both were shocked at how easy this was.

Olberic started a response. "You intend to leave this village, Alfyn? These people need you."

"It's true, I've been helping these villagers for my entire career, but my dream is to help all sorts of people in the world. There are people in places I've never been in that need my help, and I can't help them by living here my whole life. Besides, we already have a capable Apothecary in this town who can look after everyone," he added as he pointed to Zeph.

The Warrior and the Dancer gave each other a look, feigning a period of deep thought, before returning to the young man. "Welcome aboard."

"Thanks, you guys! You're not going to regret this!"

The party of three returned to the inn where Octo was happily grazing. The girl seemed so happy with her grass that they felt guilty taking it from her. But there would be greener pastures all across the continent, so they would more than make up for it. Alfyn added his belongings to the mule, and gave her a good rub. She gave her new friend a nuzzle.

"See?" Primrose nudged Olberic. "I told you so."

He huffed into a chuckle. She was right. But now he had to assist her upon Octo yet again, to Alfyn's awe.

"So where are we heading next?" He asked.

"Up north," said Olberic as he took the reins and walked the mule across the patch. "Toward the Clifflands. We'll fill you in along the way."

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. I've imagined the next chapter as a bit more entertaining, to say the least. Once the next few chapters come out, I believe things will become more clear.

Until then, happy trails.


	5. Bolderfall Burglary

One wouldn't expect a town like Boulderfall to last. It was a rugged settlement dug into a cliffside, with few natural resources and many hostile beasts on the periphery within the Clifflands Region. In truth, it survived off a thriving economy of trade as an important center. It was an oasis for traveling merchants traversing the dense Woodlands to the north and thus held a lot of traffic.

When the party entered the town, it was fresh off the heels of another engagement. The birdmen of this region were very aggressive, and while a good axe swing would ward them off, each group of them was replaced by another. They needed to rest: their destinations would be fast approaching and there was little time left.

Their first order of business, decided by a two-to-one vote, was to patronize the local tavern.

The lone dissenting vote was not pleased by her companions' decision, but she sighed and acquiesced. They were a means to an end, she thought, and this was the means to that end.

Alfyn was eager to have two new friends, and he wanted to celebrate in the best way he knew how: to drink until they can't anymore. He brazenly challenged Olberic to see which one of them could consume the most mead in one sitting. Although a disgraced knight, he still held his pride as a stalwart drinker. Boulderfall just happened to be the first place to host such an establishment, and the date was set.

"Two hundred leaves!" The budding Apothecary slapped the selfsame compensation on the counter, which was eagerly scrounged up by the barkeep. "Bring us your finest ale!"

Just to keep himself in the clear, the barkeep looked over at the other two patrons that followed him in. A sum like that in this town as equivalent to an all-you-can-drink buffet. Olberic gave him an approving nod, while Primrose just looked off to the side with disgust. The drink here was significantly cheaper than in Sunshade, but it likely had much less of a _pull_ for its male patrons.

"It was your idea," the former whispered into the latter's ear as he adjusted himself. It was a true statement, he thought. He was rather enjoying himself, and the boy was doing just the same. He made a mental note to let her make more conscious decisions on their behalf in the future.

A dancer and a woman of pleasure, the conscious of a group of righteous travelers. But there have been weirder tales.

The wafts of the beer barely retained itself within the rims of the beer glasses, a sign that they were freshly poured. Both Warrior and Apothecary clinked glasses as they signified their first round, racing to see which would finish first. It was here that the Dancer noticed a difference between the two men.

Alfyn hungrily devoured the liquor with no sense of decorum. He chugged the liquid like a dehydrated straggler near an oasis. He consumed the beverage quickly, but also left quite a mess. Much of the drink ended up around and leaking from his face, and a spruce, foam mustache graced his lips when he slammed the glass.

Olberic, on the other hand, was much more reserved. His sips were slower, but more controlled and steadier. There was little mess in his hands, and while he finished second, there was scarcely any waste. It was obvious who was going to win the long game.

This was why she preferred more… _experienced_ men, but neither took her for someone she saw alongside her beyond her own mission. Not out of malice, just preference.

The barkeep recovered their empty containers and replaced them with another set of freshly filled ones. The duo didn't seem any worse for the wear.

' _This might take a while,_ ' she thought to herself. If this was how the game would be played, then why not throw her hat into the ring? She pocketed some leaves of her own from those hostile enemies. This cat needed her milk.

She reached to her side, where she shuttered her personal coin pouch. She reached in and dug it out. The brown sack was turned upside down and deposited all leaves within. Which were none.

"What?" she exclaimed quite loudly, drawing attention from all patrons of the tavern.

"What's wrong?" Alfyn asked.

"My leaves! They're gone!"

She knew better than to let any leaves loose. She was specifically trained to keep track of every coin that came between her toes. No average joe could pull a fast one on her.

She hurriedly scanned the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She saw nothing of interest… until out of the corner of her eye, she got a whiff of something strange.

By the door. Exiting the establishment. Purple poncho. Bleached hair. Indifferent expression.

There was no mistaking it. She found a thief.

"Come back here, criminal scum!" Instantaneously, she barreled off, blitzing out of the tavern. Even in a haste, she was mindful to lift the folds of her dress as to not trip over them. It was an art.

"Not this, _again,_ " Olberic groaned at the familiar scene. He grabbed his sword and, double-checking the status of his own currency, made way behind his companion.

"Wait, what do you mean?" Seeing his question went unanswered, Alfyn grabbed Zeph's satchel and followed.

* * *

"One hundred leaves. I expected more. Hmpf."

The lone wolf looked disappointed as he lightly hefted the small purse in his hand. He expected that an exotic dancer from the Sunlands would have pulled more business. It didn't matter: he didn't _need_ the money right away, but he took it because he could, and there's nothing more fun to pickpocket than one without pockets.

He was, after all, Therion. The master of the shadows. He took what he pleased, so long as he lived. He slipped the purse underneath his folds and pulled out a fresh, red apple: another item he had used… _extralegal_ means to acquire. He didn't want to rob the Ravus Manor on an empty stomach.

Therion was a drifter, wandering from town to town, as a delinquent youth. He was talented with sleight of hand, and had a quick wit, but he had a misfortunate upbringing, and now used those talents for selfish reasons. His reputation preceded him. The only consistency in his life was in the tavern, where he'd always order the same drink no matter where he ended up.

Such was to be the story on this day. He drifted into Boulderfall and ordered the usual, but as he did, he overheard a peculiar story about the treasure of the House of Ravus. It was said to be of legendary wealth and fiercely guarded, something that only further intrigued him. The barkeep noticed his ambitions and urged him away from the Manor, but to no avail.

Therion was unable to enter it the old-fashioned way. The Manse was on a hill and guarded by an army, equipped with dogs. Jumping over the fence would be too much trouble for its worth, so another way in would be necessary.

His first thought was to disguise himself as a merchant. Such a naked and bold entrance would be least suspect to the thief-hunters, but it was not so simple. He posed as a merchant in an attempt to enter the Manor, but the guards refused him. Only then did he learn that only merchants held in the highest of esteem are permitted to enter the Manse, and they needed a written invitation as proof.

Not to be deterred, the thief began rummaging around town, looking for any such tradesman who fit the bill. He eventually did. On the edges of town, he met an older gentleman, dressed to the nines in a luxurious black suit and matching top hat, the epitome of class. He made the search even easier by hubristically conversing about such a fact, something that distracted him from ever knowing that his written writ was re-appropriated.

Therion always worked alone, at least nowadays, but even he had his superstitions, his rites when he engaged in business. He always entered a room with his right foot forward, he always knocked before entering, and he always made a small-scale heist for good luck, before embarking on a more audacious endeavor. And where else more suited to do this than his favorite in town, the tavern?

' _This is almost too easy. I won't even need to change when I get back to the Manor_ ,' he thought.

"Where did he go?"

The thief turned around, and saw the woman in red from the tavern. She was shifting left and right searching for someone… which was him. She wasn't as dumb as she looked.

But what truly bothered her were her companions. The two larger men with her made the three of them a dangerous trio, and would potentially complicate his designs if they caught him. He hurriedly walked the path to the Manor, clutching the writ in his hand.

* * *

The frantic chase was on, and the prime rose was too eager to show her thorns. On the stairs leading to a higher plateau, her prey was sighted. The same troubled youth from the tavern could be seen walking in that direction, and she urged her companions to follow her.

They raced to the top of the plateau, to find it swarming with men. They had spears, swords, and canines at the ready.

"Woah," Alfyn remarked. "What's with all these guards here?"

"They must be protecting something important," Olberic responded.

"Look, over there," Primrose pointed toward the gate, and the trio followed the walls with their eyes. They could barely see it, but they had come upon a mansion. Whoever lived within had deep pockets, and even deeper insecurities. If the thief came here, then that begs the question: why would a wealthy man resort to petty theft? And then the answer came to them.

In front of the gate, they found their man. He was standing confidently in front of the guards, who were giving him a certain look. The three instantly crouched behind nearby bushes to avoid being seen.

"I don't get it. Why don't we just go over there and ask them some questions? I'm sure this was just a big misunderstanding."

"Shhh, Alfyn! My experiences in Sunshade have shown me to always fear the gathering of armed men and unscrupulous individuals."

At the dancer's urging, the three quietly listened in on the conversation that was to be had in front of them. One of the guards seemed to be giving a cocky look at the thief, who gave no indication of a lack of confidence.

"Good day, sirs. I've come to call on the Ravuses. Would you kindly announce my arrival?" The thief said.

The cocky guard walked up to him. "They're not seeing anyone today! Begone with you at once. Begone, I say!"

"Allow my to introduce myself: you see, my name is Therion, and I am a merchant of some repute-"

But he would have none of it, crossing his arms and letting out a laugh. "A merchant? And 'of repute,' you say? Don't make me laugh!"

But Therion nodded, and continued. "You ought not judge a man by his robes. As a matter of fact, I was personally summoned by the lady of the house… And I doubt she would react kindly upon hearing I was turned away."

The smug guard started backpedaling. "Summoned? You?"

He looked at his other guard for support, who responded with a nod and a wink. "You think we're going to believe that codswallop?"

"If we had a leaf for every rotten thief who gave us that story, we'd be as rich as the Ravuses! But since we aren't, we're here protecting their fortune from would-be swindlers like you."

"Heh. Thought you could outsmart us, didn't you?"

"The next time you're 'summoned,' remember to bring your letter."

The guards stepped forward, preparing to escort the young man off the premises. Therion simply sighed, and reached into his poncho. "Would you be referring to _this_ letter, perchance?" he inquired.

He released the parchment from his person, showing it to both guards. One of them stammered into a response. "How did you get that!? It must be a fake!"

Even the three onlookers could tell that things were about to wrap up.

"If you still aren't convinced, I fear there's not much else I can do." His tone shifted from loft adventurism to saddened disappointment and haughty displeasure. He began to walk away, but left final thoughts before he departed completely. "I'll take my leave, but I _will_ give Lady Ravus a full report on what happened today. I wonder how she will see fit to deal with this affront to my good name…"

Bingo. Both guards shot back at each other and showed visible nervousness. "W-wait, sir! We were only doing our jobs… You may pass."

The grin on Therion's face was enormous. "Why, thank you, gentlemen."

The gilded gates of the Manor opened, and the man in purple walked through into the property. The onlookers were thoroughly amazed.

"That man was born for the stage," Primrose said to herself. "If he applied himself, he'd never need to steal again."

"He's got a way with words," added Alfyn.

"Are you sure the leaves are truly that important, Primrose? I can spare you some of my own…" asked Olberic.

The dancer didn't even look up to meet him.

"It's not the pouch, it's the principle of the matter. I'm not letting some _kid_ take anything of mine and get away with it. Let's find a way in."

"Those guards seem to only be keen on letting certain individuals in. Maybe we should get one of those letters like he did?"

"Nonsense," the dancer replied. "We will just go in the old-fashioned way. They have a key and that's the only knowledge we need."

"I agree," the warrior sighed, disappointed that the chase must continue, but agreeing with his companion's plan of attack. He pulled his sword to him and moved into position.

"Okay, okay," the Apothecary was defeated. Majority votes aren't fun when you lose, he thought.

* * *

The interior wasn't the fanciest abode Therion had ever been within, by the Ravuses were clearly loaded. The gilded wooden fixtures, detailed paintings, and chandeliers were opulent symbols of their wealth. From his perspective thus far, the rumors about their mystical treasure were growing increasingly plausible. This was becoming easy… too easy.

Turns out, he was right.

He almost tripped it, but he noticed from the corner of his eye an innocuous lantern. Such a lantern was the sort to transform into a sentinel, an elemental construct that defends locations autonomously. Individual sentinels weren't an issue with someone as seasoned as him, but that wasn't their threat. What they lacked in stopping power they made up for in numbers. If he was bogged down with too many, then the guards would have enough time to catch on, and catch him.

But the trap wasn't placed in a normal location for their sort. In all of his heists, they had been placed in obvious, not-so-obvious cubbies and pillars, which most ordinary burglars would fall for. No, these were placed in all manner of unique locales. When scanning for traps, no seasoned thief would search for them where they were. It explained why so many thieves were caught in this Manse.

Whoever designed these traps knew his target audience.

Fortunately for him, Therion wasn't a common thief. He easily dispensed and defused all of the traps along the way to the second floor, and to the rear of the house. He wouldn't let himself be caught that easily.

Room by room, the purple plunderer inspected to find the so-called treasure of the Ravuses. Though he had yet to discover anything noteworthy, he did pick up a few interesting baubles, including a spare lunch, some leaves, and a shiny new dagger. The momentum kept him from getting bored, and he progressed to the back of the building.

After many minutes of work, he came to the last room he had yet to investigate: a rather large ballroom in the rear corner of the Manse. He checked within: not a soul in the room. This would be it. If the treasure wasn't here, he would give up. He had already won by infiltrating the thief-trap building, and taken some loot in the process. He didn't need to dawdle when there were other mansions to swindle.

He entered the room, which was empty. The only thing of note within the halls were four square tables off to the far side of the room. Each of them had a fixture on them, which was designed to hold something, yet they were empty. All but one. One singular fixture on the center-left held a curious blue orb, which Therion moved closer to in order to inspect.

"So this is the amazing 'treasure' everyone is talking about." He said to himself. He moved closer to the orb to get a better look. It was the deepest blue that he had ever seen. It was pretty, but not as remarkable as he had hoped. "It looks like an ordinary gemstone to me. Can't imagine it's worth all that much."

"We finally found you!"

The thief turned around at this sudden surprise, and found a familiar sight greeting him. The woman in red from before, along with her blue and green companions, came barreling through the room. He wasn't surprised that he was ambushed, but rather it was these three who ambushed him, in here of all places.

"What's your problem?" He asked.

"You've taken something that's mine." Primrose replied. "Now be a good boy and hand it back."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb with me, kid. Those leaves aren't yours."

"Oh, you mean these leaves?" He reached into his poncho, pulling out a rather large pouch. "The one's I found in this mansion? They aren't yours either, you three-leaf upright."

The dancer gave a cool, calm smile. "I can't tell if you're brave or stupid, but it won't save you after we're done with you."

"I can't tell if you're master thieves yourselves or a dumb-lucky Cait if you snuck in here after me, just for a few leaves."

"We didn't sneak in here," answered Alfyn. "Those guards were all bark and no bite."

"You did what?" The thief was visibly upset. "You _fools_! Now they're going to come find me, all for this stupid jewel!"

"The jewel before you is worth more than your mind could hope to fathom."

All eyes turned to the mysterious voice that entered the conversation. It came from an elderly gentleman in a brown suit. He had long, grey hair tied back in a ponytail, and was skinny in stature. He did not look at the very least surprised or scared. He continued. "Your inability to discern as much is disconcerting to say the least."

Therion moved forward, meeting the old man. "Who the hell are you? Not just anyone can sneak up on me like that."

"I should be the one asking _you_ that question. Not just anyone could have made it this far into the manor, after all."

As he said that, the thief eyed the trio off to the side. Then again, it would be quite the trifle to sneak in when he disarmed every trap along the way.

"You won't get answers by stroking my ego."

"I meant it as nothing but genuine praise. Allow me to congratulate you on being the first thief to make it here."

"You say it as if you _wanted_ this to happen."

"Just so. We tightened security for that very reason. We figured no thief worth his salt would be able to turn down such a challenge."

This stroked the thief's interest. "…Go on."

"To this end, we even asked the barkeep for help. His job: find promising thieves and spin tales about this manor."

Therion crossed his arms, reflecting the cross nature in which he responded. "In other words, you tricked thieves into trying to rob this place."

"Think of it more as appealing to their inner nature." The old man laughed, and walked off toward the side. Olberic knew that something was rotten in Hornburg. "The great treasure of Ravus Manor, guarded by a veritable army. What thief could pass up such glory, such riches? We had such high hopes, but were constantly met with disappointment… But finally, one has proven himself worthy."

Therion lowered his head in shame. Of all the traps he disarmed and dodged, little did he realize that the biggest one was the cage he placed himself in. "I should've seen this coming…"

"And yet you did not, and I find myself most grateful for your lack of foresight."

"So what's your angle?"

"I need not explain that to you… Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Heathcote. I am a butler in the service of House Ravus."

"You expect me to believe an ordinary butler snuck up on me? Anyway, who you are won't matter once I'm out of here. Now if you'll excuse me."

Forgetting the blue stone for which he came, Therion made a dash for the exit. He was promptly stopped by a swing of Heathcote's cutlass, knocking him back.

"I assure you, you won't be going anywhere anytime soon," the butler added.

Seeing that there was little to gain by remaining, Primrose urged the others to sidestep outside of the room and leave the thief to his fate. At that moment, Heathcote kicked a floorboard, which dropped a portcullis over the hallway, blocking them.

"When I said 'you won't be going anywhere,' I wasn't just referring to this man over here. Don't think I'm letting you off when you tore through all of my guards. You're all coming with me."

There was no choice. The old man had to go down. Olberic drew his blade at the ready and entered position. "We will have to work together in order to win."

"I work alone, old man," said Therion. "Stay away from me."

Therion made another attempt on Heathcote, only to be swatted down once more. The butler quickly pivoted and parried a blow from the blue warrior. Despite his age, he was quick and strong still. Try as he might, he was too fast for Olberic to land a clear blow on.

From left and right, Primrose and Alfyn closed in to make their moves, dagger and axe in hand. Heathcote swash buckled and avoided each of their swings. The butler's speed was simply too much for them.

Seeing an opening, Therion tried to make a move from behind, knife in hand. What he got instead was a clean roundhouse kick to the stomach, which brought him to his knees.

"Agh!"

"Therion, was it? Listen to me!" Olberic pleaded, his unbending blade locked in a power struggle with Heathcote's own while his allies stammered upwards. "You can see full-well that neither of us can win on our own. We must unite. Trust us, just this once."

"You don't know me. No thief worth his salt would debase himself to what you are proposing."

"Stupid boy! Can you not see? You will never be better than the rest if you only do what they do, if you only follow the path sewn by the other thieves in this Manse. Continue to do what they do, and share their fate."

This prompted several seconds of silence, until finally Therion sighed and stood up. "…Fine, just this once."

Olberic was satisfied, and applied full pressure to his sword, knocking Heathcote backwards. Not losing the initiative, the warrior charged again at the butler, re-initiating the parry-match between them.

Once more, Primrose and Alfyn approached the man from either side, both stealing the edges of his focus. He demonstrated no visible problem juggling the three fighters before him.

"Now!"

At the shout of Olberic's cry, Therion emerged behind the browned butler. Brandishing the dagger he found in this very house, he thrust it deeply into Heathcote's back, causing him to writhe in pain. He seemed to be visibly out of control of his bodily functions, and his hands danced around, lightly slapping Therion's wrist before he was brought to one knee.

* * *

"So you can hold your own in combat as well…" Heathcote remarked. "It seems I underestimated you."

"That makes two of us. Was that a part of your 'butler' training?"

"I see you still have some reservations about my true profession. Thought I'm sure my victory here lends my words no credit."

" _Your_ victory?"

The butler said nothing, simply pointing to Therion's wrist. The purple plunderer looked at his wrist, and saw something odious on it.

"What in the-!?"

"Any thief worth his salt should recognize that band. The mark of a convict. The fool's bangle, as some call it. Undeniable proof of a thief's humiliating blunder."

"Hey, those look pretty cool!" said Alfyn. "Can I get one?"

Heathcote curtly replied. "The bangle only holds weight amongst thieves. It holds no value or vice to you, as you three are clearly not thieves."

"Get this off of me!" Therion begged.

"I do not take my orders from you. I've attached it to your arm for a reason. If anyone is to see it, they shall know of your failure here today."

"Why, you-!"

"However, I imagine your pride will not permit you to be seen with it. And that makes it perfect leverage for negotiations."

"Negotiations?"

In this moment, another figure entered the room. The figure was much shorter than the rest, and much more elegant. She had short blonde hair, and wore a light blue dress. In a high-pitched voice, she finished where Heathcote left off. "You may have broken into my home, but for now I will overlook your transgressions."

"Oh great. More company." The total was up to five now. So much for working alone.

"Pardon my belated introduction. My name is Cordelia Ravus, and I am the lady of this house."

"Regards to your decorator. They sure have a way with traps."

"Allow me to explain. The treasure you were after is a family heirloom known as the dragonstone."

"…You don't say."

"The dragonstones have been in my family for generations."

"Wait. Dragon _stones?_ I see one."

"Yes. Once, there were more. But the stones were stolen during the chaos following my parents' passing. Fortunately, Heathcote was able to recover the sapphire stone."

"What touching devotion. Is this the part where I'm moved to tears?"

Heathcote interjected. "Perhaps, once you understand your place in this story. If you collect the three remaining stones, we shall remove the band from your arm."

Therion nodded. "So this was your plan all along."

Cordelia moved forward. "Yes. But please understand. I had no choice."

"Well, aren't you two clever. Setting a thief to catch a thief."

Heathcote added, "Don't thieves often say, 'the ensnared has only himself to blame?'"

"…Yeah," Therion responded. "They do. For a butler, you sure know a lot about thieves, old man."

"I dare not bore you with my story when there are more pressing matters at hand. Will you undertake Miss Ravus's mission, young thief? If you refuse-"

"I'll do the job."

"Excellent. Then I pray your journey will be a successful one."

* * *

Matters were concluded in the Ravus Manner, and the unlikely foursome were escorted off of the property. Cordelia was shocked to see the state of her guards, while Heathcote could only shake his head. At least they were merely unconscious.

Seeing his chance, Therion made the quickest attempt possible to flee from their sight. He was still nursing his pride from their recent engagement and needed some time alone, Heathcote thought. It didn't matter much in the long scheme of things: this very pride would be the driving force behind his mission, would it not?

The other three began a trek down from the plateau, preparing to rest themselves. Alfyn was the first to break the ice.

"We never ended up getting your leaves back…" he said.

"It's regrettable, but to see that boy humiliated like he was is its own reward," Primrose repied.

Olberic was lightly flustered, but relieved that his companion finally came around on the issue. He was about to say something, but a sight before him interrupted his thoughts. On the edge of the fence, he saw what appeared to be a beautiful young woman. Her draperies were of the richest black he had ever seen. The violet strands of hair could only be rivaled by a rainbow's echo, and the scarlet in her eyes reminded him of Primrose's own attire. She noticed his audience, and made a remark as he passed by.

"Hmm…?" she inquired. "Why, hello. That light in your eye… You have the look about you I like."

He stopped in his tracks, and she continued. "Lyblac" was her name. "…But, alas. You're not quite the one I'm looking for. Ahh… I feel like I've been searching all my life for that one perfect person…"

' _What a strange woman_ ,' he thought. Slowly, the knight turned around to see if there was anyone else he could be mistaken for, but there were none. There was, however, another man standing off and away from them, but clearly listening in.

"That woman… I think she might just be the perfect one for me."

The guard, known as "Alphas," clearly had his eye on the mysterious maiden. "I have plenty of confidence in my sword. Countless battlefields have I conquered, yet it was only when I returned from the field of war that I realized it. I had gained nothing, for all I had fought… That was when I realized what I was truly missing. My other half… My perfect woman. And that woman… Oh, how can I ever get her to glance in my direction?"

Olberic was too old to not understand how this dynamic worked. Remembering a similar story not too long ago, he made his move.

"A battle, fair and square! To arms!"

"A challenge, you say? I accept! On your guard!"

The sound of metal rung through the town, and caught the attention of Primrose and Alfyn, who up until then assumed that their warrior was with them. They rushed toward the noise, inspecting the situation, when they came upon the brawl.

"Did he just challenge that guy…?"

"Don't worry too much, just watch."

Alphas didn't lie: he was a skilled fighter, and the fact that Olberic hadn't fully rested from his previous engagement still wore on him. However, the warrior pulled out a win in the end, and brought him to his knees.

"Ngh…! You… are rather skilled in battle yourself." He said, nursing his wounds.

Lyblac walked forward from the sidelines, clearly amused by the engagement. "Haha… I saw your battle just now." She said.

These words brought Alphas to his feet, but he wasn't able to get a word in over here. "I have been searching for some time for the perfect person…"

The soldier rushed to her side. "I have also been searching for my perfect mate… "

"But you are not that person."

"What?"

"He should have golden hair… And eyes of the deepest blue… Hah… Yes. And despite his name, he would surely never dare to cross me… Yes… His devotion to me would be complete. He would give me everything. His whole life. His life's blood, down… to the last drop… And when I find this perfect man… Everything will change. The entire world will change…"

The woman took a deep sigh, disappointed in the theatrics put on for her. "No… it doesn't seem like you're him. Farewell then… Heh…"

The rejected soldier called out to her as she walked away. "W-wait-! But you're… my…"

But it wasn't good enough.

"Rrrgh… I will not be so easily dissuaded!"

After he also stammered off, Alfyn spoke of a question on his mind.

"What was that all about? Some of what she said… it sent me some bad vibes."

"At least she's a woman who knows what she wants…" Primrose let out. She could relate to winning unwanted gaze. But there was a sentiment she thoroughly cut as naivete. ' _A perfect mate… what rubbish.'_

Olberic paid no mind and just followed the other two, heading towards the inn.

* * *

A short jaunt and a trip to the tavern later, Therion was still disgruntled, but much less stressed. The barkeep spilled the beans on his involvement with Heathcote, and provided some closure to the thief. With that business taken care of, he made his way upwards toward the road leading out of town. There he was greeting by the familiar sight of the three from before, with a mule to boot.

"Oh, hello there, Therion." Said Olberic.

"What do you want?"

"We heard you were searching for some dragonstones, and imagined you might need help."

"I told you before, I work alone."

"That didn't work so well with that gentleman, now did it?"

The silver-haired man stopped, visibly frustrated, but said nothing. "What's your deal?"

"We were going to offer you a spot in our caravan. We have our own locales to patronize, and we could use a talented man such as yourself. We would, of course, assist you in your own quest for freedom as well."

"Hmpf, does everyone want to get all lovey-dovey with me now?... Fine, I'll help you out, but only until I get this accursed bangle off my wrist."

"Glad to hear it. However, there is something you need to do for us first."

"…Oh really. Do go on."

"First, you must return that which is not yours." The warrior motioned toward Primrose, who looked cross from atop of Octo.

"Fine! Here, have your leaves back. Didn't realize they meant _that_ much."

"Thank you, sweetie," she cooed, gracefully accepting the currency in her hands.

Alfyn walked over and seized Therion in a tight one-armed hug. "We're going to be best buddies! You'll see!"

"Ugh," was his only response.

With matters settled, the four of them began their adventure outside of Boulderfall. Just at the outskirts, they were stopped once again.

"Mr. Therion! Mr. Therion, please wait!"

' _Mr. Therion? What in the Gods name…_ '

He turned to see the voice calling out to him. It was Cordelia, running while holding the folds of her dress, with Heathcote behind her. He eyed Primrose, who was covering her giggles. He had to remember to kill the wench later.

"What now?"

Cordelia finally caught up with them, pausing just as she came within arm's reach of the thief. "I came to see you off on your journey. As it is at my behest that you're setting out."

"Look, I'm just fulfilling my half of a bargain. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I understand that, but…"

Heathcote moved to reassure his Lady. "He's right, m'lady. This is simply an agreement between us and a skilled, but… _shortsighted_ thief."

' _You can say that again,_ ' Olberic thought.

Therion signed. "…Exactly."

"There is something you should know before you go." Heathcote added. "As you saw, I recovered a blue stone. It is known as the sapphire dragonstone. The remaining three are the dragonstones of ruby, emerald, and gold- each named for its sheen."

"And if I steal them all back for you, you'll remove this band."

"You have my word."

"Your _word?_ Well, that sounds legitimate. Any idea where I should start looking?"

"Rumor has it that a scholar in Noblecourt is researching the ruby dragonstone."

"Noblecourt? Great, I'll fit right in."

The thief started back on his path out, when he was stopped once more. "Mr. Therion!"

He turned back to the same woman once more. "What is it, _this_ time?"

"Please… do take care out there."

"Heh."

"…Did I say something amiss?"

"Never thought a man of my talents would be working for someone like… Ah, it's nothing. You'll get your stones back soon. Just leave the thieving to me."

Without a word, the thief motioned to leave the town for the third and final time. Alfyn quickly caught up to him, doing his best to chum things up with his new "friend." Olberic couldn't help but chuckle.

He looked back at Octo, stroking her with his hand as he led her through the rocky passes. His eyes moved upward to her passenger, who looked completely distraught.

"Is something the matter, Prim?"

She shook her head, wiping the expression from her face. "It's… nothing, Ric. I'm alright."

"Don't worry about what the boy says of you. If any err arises, you need only direct me and I shall smite them. Place your faith in me, and I shall shield you from any harm, on the battlefield or otherwise."

' _Faith... shield..._ ' these words lingered in her mind as the sun slowly drifted behind the cliffs. There was something about them that made her feel, for the first time since her father's death, _safe_.

* * *

A/N: The Fab Four are heading to the Forest! As always, I hoped you enjoyed this one, it was very fun to write.

I hope I didn't deviate from the characterization of the characters too much in this chapter. The next couple will be significantly more challenging to write, and you'll see why, so I will be taking liberties in certain regards. You'll understand when you read it.

Happy trails!


	6. Woodlands Wanderlust

A/N: I didn't think this story would be so positively received. Thank you all, you are all too kind, and I don't deserve it.

* * *

Feathers and forest leaves were brushed off of Alfyn's axe. After the blissful simplicity of the Riverlands and the rugged, dry heat of the Clifflands, the lush, winding trails of the Woodlands were a welcome adventure into the unknown. The young pock-a-therry had never seen so many trees in one locale, and he was giddy to get his hands on all sorts of materials for experimentation.

The other three couldn't claim to have such a good time. Olberic had to devote much time in separating Primrose and Therion, who were constantly at each other's throats. The former sent snide looks at the latter, who grew increasingly irritated and distant from the other group. This led the thief to draw quite a bit of attention from the local beasts. They weren't an issue for the travelers to dispatch, but they left quite a mess.

Between their long stretches of hiking and the occasional beast to fend off, Alfyn asked Therion several questions: as to where he was from, how he became a thief, who his stylist was, and then some. The thief grew increasingly irritated at the interrogation, and each time he would tell the Apothecary to brush off. But for every instance where he was rejected, there was a corresponding rebound for another inquiry along the way. The other two couldn't help but giggle at the entertaining display.

At their increasing insistences, Olberic found a clearing for them to rest and catch their bearings. Primrose was the first to discharge, dusting off all sorts of leaves and the like that caught on her clothes. Therion, too, wasn't thrilled at the filth that encumbered him. Acknowledging each other was the last thing on either of their minds, and both drifted to their own devices.

Alfyn stroked Octo's mane, and fed her some vegetation from his satchel. She thanked him by affectionately nuzzling him, a reaction he enjoyed.

The war hero found his own corner, inspecting his unbending blade and performing routine maintenance.

The thief was the one who broke the ice this time.

"So… where are we heading, exactly?"

"To Victor's Hollow," Olberic replied. "To find the man named Gustav. According to our map, it should be at the end of a trail to the north of here."

"And then?"

"Gods willing, we will continue east to Stillsnow. From there, we have no clear outline, and can parley at Noblecourt."

Primrose averted her eyes as he said this. Nobody noticed it, however.

Alfyn had finished his business with Octo, and was now kindling a budding bonfire in the middle. "Sounds good to me!"

"Of course, _you'd_ say that." The bleached-hair man pulled his arm out of his poncho, staring ever-glaringly at the bangle on his wrist. "Why do you even care about the Ravuses anyway? What they want is of no bearing to you, and they've done nothing but wrought harm on you anyway."

Olberic stepped forward to answer. "Lady Ravus is an honorable woman, and one can read the sincerity in her heart. It is imperative on anyone to help those in need."

"Yeah… there you go again, with all the noble knight talk and serving the princess."

"I wasn't just referring to her, you know." He gave the thief a knowing look, but said nothing more and returned to his previous task.

' _I need some female friends...'_ Primrose thought as Therion skulked back into his corner.

"So Olberic..." Alfyn interjected. "I don't mean to be one to pry, but you were a knight before, correct?"

"Yes, in a past life."

"You said you've taken down entire armies of enemy soldiers by yourself in your day. Yet with these fellows in the woods, and in the Manse, you don't seem... that-"

"...strong." he finished, flatly.

Primrose snapped out of her stupor, trying to ameliorate the situation. "Don't take him to think that you're weak."

"It's fine, he's not wrong... and it's not simply me getting older."

"Then what is it, if you don't mind me askin'?" Alfyn continued "Were the legends exaggerated, or maybe the world has gotten more dangerous?"

"All legends, you will find, are grown from a kernel of truth, and spread to the ends of the earth. I was indeed a fearsome warrior in my own right, and the foes of the world haven't gotten worse in my absence. I've... simply been out of practice."

Therion began paying more attention to the conversation, while the other two looked at each other, and back at the warrior, crying in unison, "practice?"

"Just as any virtuoso will grow rusty if their skills are shelved, so do warriors and our athletic ability regress should we stop using them. My experience will never fade, but muscles do, and they won't always keep up with my senses."

"That's real interesting. Thanks for the chat, Olberic. Anyways, lunch is served!"

The group continued to feast upon the local fare of the region. They were lucky to run into a small boar, which provided a good source of protein for the boys. Alfyn turned out to be an accomplished chef as well, which was also very convenient. They were complacent, and blissfully unaware of what would come next.

"Nyeh!"

The foursome jolted to check what was wrong, but they were too late. The caught the tail end of Octo being spirited off deeper into the woods. They saw two vague figures next to her: a tall one and a shorter one. The tall one seemed to have light brown hair, but the shorter one was almost indistinguishable.

"Octo!" Primrose called out.

Hastily grabbing her belongings, she ran off as fast as her feet would allow. Alfyn clumsily followed suit, trying to catch her.

"Primrose, wait up!"

Therion joined in. " _Another_ thief, really?... Why are you so bothered about it? It's a mule, just buy another one."

"It's not just a mule!" She snarked back. "Octo is part of our family. We must get her back!"

"Family, you mean your ride, lazy bones…"

"She's heading east, which means we can't reach Victor's Hollow if we follow her…" Alfyn said to himself, softly as if he didn't want to be heard, but he was.

"Let us go after her." Olberic added. "My mission can wait, but family cannot."

The dancer was ecstatic and had a second wind. She completely ignored the pain of running in her sandals through the firm dirt.

* * *

 _Earlier that day…_

Her name is H'aanit, and she is a hunter. One of the last descendants of her proud and ancient clan, she makes her home here in S'warkii, deep in the Darkwood. This seasoned huntress roams the forests with Linde, her fast friend, though her mind often turns to her master, who left the village one year ago… on a dangerous hunt from which he has yet to return.

"A year hath past since that day." She remarked. She stood in the very spot where he was last seen: by the inn at the edge of the village. The log cabins that were made homes in this village had a quaint texture to them, dressed in the reds and greens of the local scene. Due to its isolation, they didn't get many visitors, and those who did quickly adjusted to the "shoot first and ask questions later" mentality of the locals.

"In all that time, Master could only be bothered to senden a single letter."

" _H'aanit! 'Tis me, thy revered Master. Missest me? I won't bore thee with any blather about the weather or the season. Who knoweth when this will even arrive, after all._

 _For three months now, I have pursued the trail of the beast soughten by the Knights Ardante. A beast by the name of 'Redeye.' That's their name for it, leastwise. As for its true name-if it even hath one- none can say._

 _But on my father's bow, I sweare 'tis the most vexing quarry I've ever hadde the misfortune to hunten. It eludeth mine every trap, and- though thou may thinketh me mad for saying this- I sweare it can even senseth every move I make. I knowe not if it is human intelligence or pure animal instinct… but either way, it refuseth to be caught._

 _Still, we appear to have annoyeden it sufficiently that it is moving on to new pastures. Judging from its behavior, I believe it meaneth to make for the lands around Stonegard. I will be frank with thee, my girl, for thou'st always been able to seen through my pretenses. The chase will be hard, and the hunt will not endeth soon. But fear not, for endeth it shall. Hast thouh ever knownst your master to failen in a hunt?_

 _And so I aske thee, my dear prentice. Praye look after the village until I returne. Oh, and be not a worrywart._

 _Always thy friend and teacher,_

 _Z'aanta."_

"…Never heard Master admitteth that any hunt would be difficult. Either this 'Redeye' is truly the most formidable of beasts… Or he stoppeth in every gambler's den from here to Stonegard."

H'aanit had to shake her head at that last idea.

'… _But no. Master liketh to acten the fool, but when it cometh to hunting… If he saith he will catcheth his quarry, then catcheth it he will._ '

Linde's spotted fur brushed against her arm. Linde was H'aanit's spotted leopard companion, an animal she took under her wing, and had assisted her in her every hunt since their union. Whenever the huntress was in distress, Linde would purr and those feelings would melt away, such as this time.

H'aanit loved the sensation, and combined with the fur shawl on her outfit, it made her feel at ease.

"Yes, Linde. I knowe. Master entrusted the safety of the village to me. My duty now is to the villagers. Comen. Leten us visiten the headman, and see if anyone hath need of my bow."

* * *

After a brief (thanks to her) conversation with the village headman, H'aanit was instructed to train the young hunters of the village. He sent Linde to play gentle with them, but even that was too much to overwhelm them. She remarked that they were starting to learn talents that would push the edges of trouble for her, which made her proud.

"Huntress H'aanit!"

Linde had only just begun licking her claws when a young girl came in, rushing toward them.

"What is it?"

"The headman sent me to find thee. He said he must speaketh with you right away!"

And so the duo scurried over to the headman, inquiring on the issue at hand. He laid it out in plain terms.

"Yes. A request hath comen in from the demesne of Lord Ciaran. It would seem a beast hath strayed into his provincial forest."

"…And he will it gone."

"Just so. He asketh for our best hunter. And while Master Z'aanta is off on the hunt, that meaneth thee."

She nodded in agreement. "Understood."

"Always remember, H'aanit. Since time immemorial, ours has been a village of great hunters and huntresses. Yes, far and wide beyond the edges of the Darkwood, our home…"

She knew the tale, all too well. "…The bards sangeth of our exploits, and all the realm aluded fair S'warkii as the home of the true hunter… Is that not how it went?"

"Ho ho… have I told it that many times? Long-winded tales, my dear…"

"…Are the vice of an old man, yes. As for the hunt, I am ready when needed."

"Excellent. Lord Ciaran's messenger awaiteth inside. He will telleth thee all thou needst to know."

"I will speake to him at once."

"…H'aanit. Prithee doe naught Master Z'aanta would thee not."

"Of course. Thanke ye."

Based on the conversation with the herald of Lord Ciaran, the beast in question was not of the usual variety. It wandered into the Whisperwood from unknown places. It wasn't unusual for these beasts to be habitually displaced, and she had plenty of experience with them.

This one was different, as it wiped out an entire caravan, leaving no survivors. The merchant survivor attested that they were attacked by a Ghisarma, beasts that she knew would be out of place in these woods. She gave her word that the deed would be done.

Making her way through the trail to the west, she gathered her thoughts and mentally prepared herself for the confrontation. She dealt with all manner of beasts and threats to the village before, but this was a steep escalation in her master's absence. Taking a deep breath, she strode ever closer to the deepest part of the woods.

Upon arrival, she was greeted by the fallen forms of several wolves and men. Could this be the caravan referenced before?

One thing was clear: this kill was not done for survival. The only things taken from the dead were their lives: their deaths for sport, not sustenance. It sickened her heart just seeing such a waste.

Across from them, she saw a pair of wolves, eyeing them carefully. It was clear that they were terrified, and that they saw what had happened to their kin.

She made the conscious decision to tend to the fallen, after she had avenged their slaughter.

' _To eaten, to ben eaten… this is the fate- and the privilege- of any beast of the forest. A life for a life. So it hath been since the dawn of time. But to slayen for sport- for pleasure or greed- is to betrayen the law of nature. Each time a creature taketh more than it needeth, a part of the forest dieth. I hunte not merely to keepen Lord Ciaran's people safe.'_

"I hunte to saven the forest itself."

H'aanit met more than her fair share of poachers. They came from far flung regions of Orsterra, often boasting the finest of arms, in anticipation of a great hunt. Their kills were wasteful, and provided only for their own vanity, leaving nothing for the environment. These humans knew better, which was why their behavior was reprehensible.

Beasts, on the other hand were much more ambiguous. They did not normally know the layabouts of morality, yet they did not engage in wanton slaughter. They only fought in self-defense, or for subsidence. Their errs could be excused.

A beast that combined the worst of both was a threat to everything in nature, and must be put down.

She came upon a clearing where a number of wolves were present. Their attention was fixated on something, and when she saw what it was, she recoiled in disgust.

Atop a hill, sat a large, hideous being. It was a rat-like creature with jet-black fur on its torso. Its legs, all violet and hairless, coordinated with its face. Its menacing violet eyes beamed fear into these wolves, who growled defensively while backpedaling. The thing had already claimed two more wolves, whose bodies lay at the beast's feet.

This was the Ghisarma, no doubt about it. She fired a warning shot just beneath it.

"That is enough."

The Woodland wolves moved aside to give her room, and gave her a look. Without saying a word, both understood each other perfectly.

"GRAAAGGGHHHHHHH!"

The beast would not be ignored, making a threatening posture to the huntress. But she was not to be threatened, either. She remained while the other wolves ran off to safety.

"Thou scarest me not, beast. Is it not so? Thou wert driven from thine home. Bested by a beast more powerful, thou fledst and foundest thyself here. I understand thy pain all too well. But to turnen thy grief and anger against innocent creatures… that is a sin of men. It was thy duty to adapten to the forest, to letten it finden a place for you… Instead, thou wouldst rip out its heart and claim it as thine own. This cannot be forgiven."

The beast only responded with another despondent growl.

"Thou hast trespassed, beast. And in the name of the forest, I visite judgment upon thee!"

The monster made the first move, leaping rabidly towards them. H'aanit's toned body enabled her to evade in time, and fire retaliatory volleys at it. Linde came from behind and clawed at the beast.

The Ghisarma wouldn't be felled that easily, and attacked again.

This cycle would repeat several times, with endless arrows filing into its hide, yet not one slowed its movements. After one of the exchanges, the huntress slipped and fell.

"Gah!"

She was careless, not noticing the trail of drool left by the monstrosity. It seized its chance, taking a mightly leap into the air, claws extended.

But she was saved by Linde, who sideswiped it just enough for it to just miss its mark. In a rage, the violet demon ripped Linde, severely wounding it.

This spurred H'aanit into action. Taking four arrows from her quiver, she fired them in quick succession. The final one, making direct contact with the head, proved fatal.

She rushed to her partner's side, checking to see if she were okay. She was, and gave a reassuring lick to her.

"…Thy life is given not in vain, for it will feeden others. Thou art of the forest now, and in the forest, naught is lost."

As if on cue, the wolves from before came to the clearing. They sniffed the fallen fiend, ironically eyeing it as their next prospective meal. With her work done, H'aanit made her way out, Linde in tow.

"…Comen, my friends. This life belongeth to all. The animals that eateth the grass becometh food for the animals that eateth meat. The eaters of meat in their turn, feedeth those yet stronger. And when the strongest of all dieth, his life is returned to the forest. His flesh feedeth the soil, the grass… His blood becometh sap, his bones wood… He becometh the food of the plant-eaters, and the circle beginneth once more… Lives entwined, a tapestry woven anew each dawn, every thread a part of the whole."

These were words spoken often by her master, words she lived by. They hunted and wore their quarry, but only out of respect of nature, not as conquest. He could do a thing or two with words… so long as they were about hunting.

She returned to the scene of the crime, where the loyal wolf still stood watch. The bodies of the men were absent, but the herald from earlier was in their place. He had taken it upon himself to dig graves for the tormented souls, marked on the beginning of the trail where they met their demise. At her request, he vowed to leave the wolves be, to be reclaimed by the forest.

* * *

Upon their return to the village, they were greeted by a familiar, and unexpected, friend.

"Hagen! Thou returnst to us!"

Hagen was Z'aanta's trusted blue direwolf partner. Much in the same way as Linde, they were inseparable, and hunted as one. He was normally friendly, but upon meeting H'aanit, he growled fiercely.

"Where is Master? Hath something befallen him!?"

More barking commenced, but she seemingly understood it.

"He is confused… and frightened. Thou didst run here, didst thou not? And alone… Doth Master needeth my help?"

She moved forward, taking in Hagen's rough fur in her fingers. "It's all right. Easy, boy… easy." It worked. "There, there, now… That's a good boy."

' _Master is in trouble. That much is clear. I must hasten to his side. If anything were to happen to him…_ '

She would rely on Hagen to guide her to Z'aanta. That much was clear. The letter sent by her master gave her a hint as to his whereabouts, but she wouldn't know for sure until they got there.

She said her goodbyes to the villagers, confident that her trainees could maintain the settlement until her return, with Z'aanta. It wasn't a good sign that Hagen would be seen apart from him, but they had to trust the judgment of the wise old hunter.

* * *

Hagen had gone off ahead of them, but H'aanit had learned enough. Her next stop would be Stonegard, the last location that her master was known to frequent, and they would reconnoiter there. It was up to her to make the journey with Linde. The fastest route would be through the Frostlands, but she wanted to increase her odds of success.

Her attunement to the wilds had granted her the ability to tame and domesticate many wild beasts and call upon them. The effect was only temporary, but it served her well through the years. As she pondered which beast she should take, the Gods seemingly sent her mana from heaven.

She caught a wiff of a traveling band making their way through the Woodlands, obviously alien to the region and its customs. She lurched behind them to investigate, hoping they wouldn't bring the same discomfort to the forest as the beast before them did.

She examined the four of them. A short man with a purple garment, next to a taller, young man with a green vest and a satchel. These two didn't seem to be causing much trouble. Behind them, a tall, well-built man in blue, carrying a massive longsword, was keeping stern watch over the flock. He didn't seem much of a threat if left unprovoked.

What bothered her the most was the last figure. It was clearly a female, _riding_ atop what appeared to be a pack mule, led by the man in blue. This farce was distasteful and disrespectful to the poor animal. Master had told her about beasts that were used by men, not as partners, but as servants and assistants, to be used and dispensed at will. This was a practice she had yet to see for herself, but her first taste left a sour respite in her mouth.

' _These brutes maken a mockery out of nature. Rest easy, for thee shall be free._ '

H'aanit waited until the group had settled down in a nearby clearing, and separated from the creature. Using the utmost stealth, she snuck up on the mule, and let loose her snare. It captured it almost immediately, and she, along with Linde, ran off with it. She was confident in her knowledge of the terrain, and that they would never catch up to her.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to continue, Primrose?"

They spent the entire day on the chase, with no fruit to bear. It had been long since the trail of the Octo caper had grown cold, and they only had leaf-infested clothing to show for it. At least Alfyn was happy, gathering various roots and dusts for his collection.

As for Therion, these weren't the leaves he was interested in. "I don't know, Olberic. Didn't you barrel through an army of guards and a rigged mansion for a few hundred leaves?"

"We need to catch this thief, no matter what!" stated Primrose.

"But we already caught _this_ lovable teddy bear!" Alfyn sung sweet lines as he pulled Therion into another involuntary hug.

One issue presented itself almost immediately. At the end of the trail, they could see soft white powder on the ground. The snowfall indicated the borders to the Frostlands were beyond the bend. The issues that presented themselves were innumerable. They had no indication of a trail left by the caper, the wildlife would be surely hostile to fickle prey like Octo…

' _And the others…_ ' Olberic thought.

The knight was well-equipped for the journey, with his heavy clothing, but the others weren't. Therion wore light fabric, but it was maneuverable enough to cover his exposed limbs. Alfyn was less-covered, but he could at least adjust his green vest to shield himself from the elements, mostly. But Primrose…

She wouldn't last long. If the cold didn't make her sick, the frostbite on her exposed feet would halt her advance.

"We have to stop here. It's too dangerous to go forward without some winter clothes…" he pleaded.

She wouldn't have any of it. "We have no choice. If we stop now, then Octo will be gone forever. The conditions will simply motivate our bodies to their peak performance anyways."

Alfyn tried to comment. "We can always get another mule-"

"She isn't just a mule. She's family, and you can't just replace it!"

It was clear she wasn't backing away. The only question was whether or not the three would let her march into certain death alone.

Olberic moved his hands within his Hornburgian Blue tunic, which gave the impression to the others that he was retrieving something. Instead, the entire tunic came off, and the rest of Olberic's dark grey armor was exposed. The light engravings on the chest area matched the swirls on his shoulders, and the entire piece looked hard as a rock. He presented his garment to the dancer.

"Take this."

He wouldn't let her win, not this time. He pulled his face in the other direction, not letting her see the red on his face. It would be ill-fitting, but much more coverage than her skimpy attire afforded her. He was denied purview of the genuine amazement and determination in her emerald eyes as she reached out for it.

"Thank you, Olberic."

"Hey!" Alfyn pouted. "Where's mine!?"

* * *

A/N: I did limit the original dialogue with H'aanit, not because I hate her character (I don't believe me) but because I'm afraid of writing her poorly. Expect plenty of ye olde speake in the next chapter.

Happy trails!


	7. Moths to the Flamesgrace

In and out, up and down. That was the way Linde rolled through the snowy flats of the Frostlands. The snow leopard was at home in this cold environment, and she would make sure everyone knew it. H'aanit was pleased at this, eliciting a smile on her lips, as she pulled her shawl ever closer to her to fight back the cold.

To her surprise, their third traveler wasn't as enthused with their trip. The mule had been dragging its feet at first, making the huntress pull harder to attempt to continue. After enough cajolement, the mule acquiesced, and ceased to put up significant resistance.

"Pray thee just a bit longer. Thy shall release thee soon enough."

From what Z'aanta had told her, these mules were native to the Highlands, where they roamed free of natural predators. Since she was on her way there anyways, she could do her "good deed" along the way before continuing her mission.

But the climate was starting to get to her. Even her tempered and athletic body needed shelter before finishing the trek through the Frostlands, and when she saw a nearby town on the way, she rushed over.

When she arrived, the town looked almost magical. The brick homes looked quaint and cozy with snow on the rooves. Inside, fiery pyres illuminated each room, adding a sense of mysticism unseen in her old home. There was something about them that made her want to rush inside, and it wasn't just the perceived warmth within.

On top of that, the people wore funny clothing. Both men and women wore heavy, full-body coverings of clearly animalistic origin, likely wool. They also bore funny hats, but they also had no snow on their heads, which she couldn't claim as well.

This town was apparently called "Flamesgrace."

At last, she understood why Linde was so jubilant on this leg of their journey. But she couldn't stay idle, she had a trail to follow.

She moved through town, not seeing anything of interest. That is, until she came to the center and saw the massive building in the background. It reached higher than any tree in the Woodlands, and was made of the selfsame material that construed the houses around her. Z'aanta had never mentioned any of these in his travels. What was it?

She could feel a tap on her upper right shoulder from behind. She spun around, meeting the source of the sensation.

"May the flame guide your path."

The source was a young woman, clothed in a pure-white gown. She wore black boots with matching leather arm warmers, and carried a yellow-tipped staff. Her golden hair and eyes shone like a bright light in the cold morrow of the town. Normally H'aanit would be ambushed by hostile foes, but this one seemed… different.

"Who art thou and what dost thou neede of thee?"

"Greetings, great huntress. I can tell that you are not of this town." Her voice was like light notes from a songbird. "I am in need of aid, and time is of the essence."

"Don't we all…" she crossed her arms, unimpressed by the request.

The blonde coughed into her hand. "Uh, let me try this again. I am on a mission for the Church of the Sacred Flame, and I need assistance…"

"Thee Church of the Flame, mine master hath spoken of thee." She remembered that the Knights Ardante were closely connected with the Church, and while she didn't understand their customs, she knew they were generally a force for good. "Ah, for thee Church? I can spare a moment for thee cause."

She giggled, demonstrating her cheery and light personality. "Thank you! My name is Ophilia Clement, and I am a cleric for the Church here in Flamesgrace."

"H'aanit. Leten us proceed."

* * *

It took several hours, but the foursome finally reached Flamesgrace. All manner of wild beast and element attempted to hamper their progress, but they trudged through anyhow.

Olberic took a moment to assess the status of his comrades. Because he had both boots and gloves, he was the best off of the four. "How are the rest of you faring?"

"Juuuuuuust great…" said Therion.

"I-I've been b-better…" Alfyn chortled, the habitual shivering stuttering his speech. "It could be worse."

"Luckily the snow is rather firm," added Primrose. It was no secret as to how goofy and off-fitting the deep blue tunic was on her form, covering her completely and hiding every dip and curve on her body. It did, provide a dry warmth to her otherwise-exposed sections, providing for everything except her feet. The excess fabric also allowed her to tuck her arms within the torso region, keeping them warm despite the lack of sleeves on the garment. "I've heard that further north the snow is more dangerous. It's almost like Octo left a path."

"Then it is fortunate that we've arrived in this town when we did." The warrior was relieved that they came upon the inn, first and foremost. "Let us warm up in there and acquire lodgings."

"I spy a tailor down the road…" the feline dancer wiggled her way out of the blue garb, returning it to its owner. She did admit she grew a bit fond of it, for the color reminded her of Yusufa. "Give me a moment to slip into something a bit more… _comfortable_."

All three of the men watched as Primrose walked away, letting her scarlet outfit flow in the wind.

"Is she always… like _that?_ " Therion piqued.

"You should have seen her when I met her…" Olberic added, shaking his head.

They turned toward the warm embrace of the inn, which gave the welcome embrace they so desired. The other two filed inward, but out of the corner of his eye, Alfyn saw something peculiar.

Taking a few steps forward, he took in the image. It was grey and familiar, but he had to get just a bit closer to confirm. After a few seconds, that confirmation presented itself.

"Guys! Come back! You gotta see this!"

Therion snuck his head out of the front door of the establishment. "Ugh, what is it?"

"I found Octo!"

* * *

 _Ophilia Clement was orphaned at a young age, and at the tender age of five, she was taken in my Archbishop Josef of Flamesgrace. She quickly grew close to Josef's own daughter, Lianna, and the two became very close. Both grew up within the church and took upon the path of a Cleric. This entailed a lesson on the lore of the church._

 _Long ago, the thirteen gods created the land of Orsterra. They shaped the mountains and the molehills, and created man to watch over and inhabit their creation. One of the gods, Galdera, took it upon himself to spread death and destruction throughout the land, and it required the remaining twelve gods to stop his madness. It was Aelfric, keeper of the flame, who unleashed his holy flame on the dark God and sealed him away. This Sacred Flame became central of worship for the Church, and every twenty years, a Flamebearer journeys to the churches of the realm to do The Kindling._

 _That is the origin story of the church, the story passed down from parent to child for generations. The time of The Kindling had come to pass just recently, and Lianna was to be the one to take the Sacred Flame, located within proximity of Flamesgrace, across the realm, following in her own father's footsteps. Ophilia was ever-supportive of her, and despite being adopted, "Anna" embraced her as much as her own father, who shared the sentiment. "Phili" just wished she could help her, out of gratitude for all that they had done for her._

 _The hour had grown late, and Josef and Lianna had gone off to discuss preparations for the latter's journey. In the meantime, Ophilia underwent her usual duties for the church, including custodial ones. She met a young boy who had been separated from his mother, and was crying in a corner. With a wink and a nod, she cooed the boy into taking her hand, and she searched for the mother with him. They were fortunate, as she was just outside the building, frantically looking for him. She thanked her plentifully, and the Cleric bode them adieu and returned inside._

 _Within the Church, most of the people within had already filed out. So her surprise was to be expected when an individual called out to her from the side._

" _If I may have a moment, sister…" She saw the figure slowly emerge from the shadows. The man had vibrant brown hair and an elegant fur-rimmed coat. His voice echoed the intoxicating, pure voice of the church._

" _Yes? Might I be of some service, my good sir?"_

" _Would you know where I might find His Excellency the Archbishop?"_

"… _May I ask who is looking for him?"_

" _Ah! Pray forgive my lack of manners. My name is Mattias, a trader with the Leoniel Consortium. The archbishop has generously deigned to engage in a transaction of sorts with us."_

" _A trader…? I see. It's an honor to meet you, sir. I am Sister Ophilia."_

" _Oh, so you are Sister Ophilia! I've heard so much about you. When the archbishop contacted me to request my services, he spoke much of his two daughters."_

 _With every word, he inched closer and closer to her, his words carrying the weight of seduction on his lips. It was growing hard to divorce herself from the conversation._

" _I also heard that Sister Lianna will be the next Flamebearer. The realm is blessed to have such loyal servants. It is, as a matter of fact, to equip your sister for her forthcoming journey that the archbishop has summed me here today."_

" _Is that so? We are much obliged for your support."_

" _Think nothing of it, good sister! It is the duty of the faithful to serve the church, as the church so tirelessly serves us."_

" _S-Sister Ophilia! You must come at once!"_

 _A Cleric blared out a cry from across the hall, which caught the blonde by surprise, and secret gratitude._

" _Whatever is the matter?"_

" _Oh, Sister Ophilia, it's the archbishop… His Excellency has collapsed!"_

 _At once, the Sister made haste for her father's side, but not before apologizing to the strange gentleman before her for her interruption. Fortunately, he was a good sport of it, and waved her off, wishing for his good health._

 _The sight greeting her when she caught up with His Excellency was not what she wanted: in a bed, with Lianna doting at his side. Her sister prayed for her not to panic. The man was bedridden, borderline comatose, and the women could only feel helpless as they prayed for his condition._

 _The timing could not have been worse, as Lianna was to set out for The Kindling in the morning. She reminded herself of the role, but her body was giving another reaction. Her stiff, revolving body bucked as she reminded herself of her duty, and Ophilia knew that her mental condition was not stable for such an arduous journey. This theory was confirmed when Anna fled the room._

 _Though she gave no indication where she went, Phili already knew full-well where her sister had gone. It was a location on the edge of town. There was a large hill that overlooked much of the town, and gave an excellent view of the massive Cathedral where they lived. It was a favorite spot for them in their childhood, and their go-to place to play._

" _Lianna… How are you feeling?"_

"… _Ophilia?"_

 _The burnet sister was visibly shaken, giving her best attempt to walk over and greet her blonde sister, but collapsing in front of her._

" _What am I to do, Ophilia? Father… My father is…"_

" _Lianna…"_

" _Thinking about what might happen makes me feel so scared, so angry that I… I feel like my heart might just burst. But if I fall to pieces now, everyone will lose hope. I must be strong. And soon I must depart on the pilgrimage. The rite cannot be put off any longer – there are centuries of tradition we must obey. But… leaving my father behind, without even knowing if I'll ever… ever see him… again…"_

 _Phili gently rubbed her sister's head, bringing her teary-eyed face to her chest. She softly stroked her back. "Don't despair, Lianna. We are together in this. We will find a way."_

" _Ophilia…"_

 _It was ironic, this moment. From the day that she was taken in, Ophilia was always the passive, shy one. She was unsure of herself in this world, or if she belonged anywhere. It was ultimately Lianna that broke her out of her shell, offering her a warm hand in friendship and sisterly love. She was the one who would put a smile on her face. She was the one who brought her to their special spot. She was the one who dammed up her tears. She was the one who proved to her that she didn't need to spend the rest of her life alone. This fate was unbefitting of someone as pure as Anna._

" _I'm sorry for running off like that… I will return to Father's side, and stay with him as long as I can."_

" _Pray do that, Lianna. He will rest all the easier knowing you are with him."_

* * *

"Thou's judgment is noble in hearte. Thou's sister deserveth as much tyme with her father as can be."

"This cave houses the First Flame – the fire that Aelfric himself brought down from the heavens… I must bring it back!"

The two women continued exploring the Cave of Origin, the locale where the flame was to be gathered. Ophilia had brought the lantern that would house the Sacred Flame, but the details regarding the trek were still unexplained to her. She hoped to learn quickly as they explored.

"I know much of the Flame and of its magic, but I'm not too gifted in the ways of combat. My sister was always the more skilled one. We've always been warned to stay away from this cave due to its danger."

"Fearen not, for I shall smite our foes."

Towards the back of the cave, they made out ornately detailed steps leading to an altar of sorts. This was clearly man-made, and indicative that this would lead them to their destination. On the top of the altar, the two saw a bright white light dancing in the darkness, illuminating the halls. This must be the Flame that they were after.

Ophilia took a deep breath and stepped forward. An ominous voice echoed through the minds of her, H'aanit, and Linde.

" _Of thee who dost treaden in these halls, I aske. Art thou fit to lighten the flames and showen the path to all humanity?_ "

"This voice," the Cleric uttered. She couldn't tell where it was coming from, but her heart drew her to a natural conclusion.

" _I am the guardian of the First Flame. If thou woldst callen thyself the Flamebearer… Thou must proven thyself worthy!_ "

The Flame flashed a vibrant, pure white, blinding everyone in the hall for several seconds. The light slowly ceased, but it caused no harm upon the eyes. Instead, in front of them stood a massive construct of rock. It looked humanoid, with two arms, two legs, and a head. It wielded what looked like a sword and a shield. It was textured with cracks of light from head to toe, and posed menacingly.

This was the Guardian of the First Flame, arms at the ready.

"Linde, with me!" H'aanit drew her bow, taking aim at the enormous foe. Her snow leopard partner took a menacing stance, ready to pounce at a word. This would prove a trial of her own: whether she could confront and defeat any challenge presented to her, and if she was indeed ready to help her master.

* * *

"It is her!"

Alfyn was readily stroking the naked mane of the mule, who was left on the edge of town, at the base of a significant hill. The apothecary swore that he could confirm this mule was indeed Octo, based on birthmarks.

"It's good to see our ally has been recovered. But a question remains. How did she get this far safely, and why?" Olberic asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" said Therion. "It's our mule mugger friend from the Woodlands. Whoever he was must have left her here thinking we wouldn't come after her."

"Easy girl, easy." The Apothecary was doing his best to soothe the mule, who wasn't used to the amount of attention it was getting. It wasn't tied to anything, so they had to use every effort to keep her from running off.

"We should tell Primrose when we meet her again… or should I say, 'if.'"

"What'ya mean, Therion?"

"You know how contemporary women can be with clothes. You know what I mean, right Olberic?"

The warrior said nothing, instead closing his eyes and letting his mind drift off to times when Erhardt would regale his rendezvous with noblewomen.

"Anyways, the day I meet a woman who doesn't behave like a princess, is the day I'll buy you a plum basket. What'ya say, old buddy old pal?"

"Therion…"

The thief reached into his poncho, pulling out an apple that was involuntarily donated to his stores. He brought it close to his face to take a fresh bite, but his teeth collided with air. He bit his own tongue instead.

"Ow!"

He looked around, thinking himself crazy. He _knew_ he had an apple in his hand, but where did it go?

It was on the tree beside them, tied to it by an arrow.

Oh, that's convenient. Now he wouldn't lose it.

Wait… an arrow?

"Stopen there, criminale scum!"

All three pairs of eyes looked upward to the source of the pretty voice. They saw three silhouettes: one with long, braided hair and a bow in hand, another to the left that was slightly shorter, but wearing a pure white robe, and an even shorter one to the right, which was clearly… a _leopard?_ An interesting trio.

"Oh boy, am I being detained?"

The lead figure slid down the slope, confirming to all that it was indeed a woman, though she was much more muscular than many men. "You besten to backeth away from the mule, boye."

"Who are you?" asked Alfyn, clearly cowing before the archer in front of them. Though he felt fear from her and the leopard, the other woman with them didn't give him the same impression, somehow.

"Thy name is unimportant, but I am H'aanit. And thou art encroaching on the nature of this majestic creature. Thou art to leaven her alone at once."

"Look, we don't want a fight, H'aanit. This mule just happens to be of our party, but we just lost her in the Woodlands…"

Ophilia shifted suddenly to the side, speaking to an unintroduced face. "Uh… who are you?"

"P-Primrose?" Olberic gasped. How many leaves did she spend on that outfit?

She was clad in a deep scarlet coat, held together by buttons, and stretching down to her thighs. The tips of her hands could be seen, protected with ebony arm warmers. The legs were covered by matching, knee-high leather boots. Her lush brown hair was swept back, down to her waist, and held together by a brace, covered by a matching scarlet beret. Her green eyes flashed vibrantly at the men, and scornfully at the women.

"Like it?" She twirled around, flashing the v-sign with a wink. "It took a while to get it in a color I liked… I see you found Octo."

"Thou…" H'aanit pivoted. "Thou art the woman who rideth this majestic animal liken a dog."

"And you must be our thief. I don't know who you are or why you did it, but we'll be taking Octo back with us, hun."

"And doest what with her? You showen no respect for nature." Linde growled, ready to pounce once more, as her partner continued. "We teachen lessons to men who abuse our friends in the wild."

"Is this really necessary, H'aanit?" Ophilia pleaded.

"If a crime had been committed, then let me take responsibility…" Olberic stood forward, making eye-contact with the huntress. "If you are offended by any act that Primrose had taken with Octo, then the fault is mine. The mule was purchased with my leaves, so it is my fault that the situation reached this point."

"Thou speakest with honor. If thyne words be true, then faceth me in battle."

"A battle, fair and square?"

"Indeed. Linde, attack!"

"Wait, what?"

He barely caught it in time, but Linde's pounce forced the warrior several paces backwards. In all his duels, he had always faced a singular opponent, be it a man or a woman. Never in his years had he faced a hunter… and her animal companion? That wasn't fair, but as Erhardt always told him, life rarely is.

He shoved the leopard back, drawing his sword while it recoiled.

"You caught me off guard. I thought I was facing _you_ in battle."

"Linde and I fighteth as one. It maketh no difference."

The cat struck back, this time getting a strong bite on the warrior's hand.

"Gah!"

He knelt down, clenching the wound. It was covered by the stiff gloves he wore, but he could still feel blood welling up within his hand. This was no ordinary beast.

Slowly, he dragged himself up, sword at the ready. He wouldn't hold anything back, not this time. He charged at the leopard, whose fangs were barred for another bite. Metal met teeth.

The power struggle continued for several seconds, with neither side giving an inch. Suddenly, Linde slipped out of the hold, maneuvering around it to pounce on the warrior. He caught this movement and, with a brush of his hands, thwacked Linde with the pommel of his blade. The leopard was knocked sideways, crashing into the nearby tree, just below the apple. She was out.

But one fighter remained. His blade just barely met the axe of the huntress, who looked daggers at the man who bested her partner.

With great hatred and prejudice, she spat venom at him. "Thou shalt regret this day, Gods will it."

She was ferocious, to be sure, and quite strong. She was stronger than many of the soldiers in old Hornburg, and possibly stronger than his other male companions. But this strength had a glaring weakness, one Erhardt exploited on him far too often…

He balanced his blade, shifting the center of gravity to bring her axe closer to him. Like a vase with the rug pulled out under it, she started tumbling toward him unexpectantly, to which he took advantage. He knocked her backwards with his knee, causing her to spin uncontrollably. She fell into the snow, axe falling a meter away from her, and upon turning right-side up, the longsword was pointed at her throat.

"This is over."

' _Flame taketh me… I am done. What happeneth to me nowe? Master, forgiven me…'_

H'aanit closed her eyes, sad at the course of events, but prepared to accept her fate. After several seconds, she opened them, not sure what to expect. She saw not a blade at her face, but a hand.

"You fought well."

The man she dueled, the man who she treated with nothing but scorn and malignance, the man who overpowered her just now, was extending clemency toward her?

She felt a slight heat on her cheeks.

"T-thank thee…" she begrudgingly took his hand, and hoisted herself up. She assessed the field, and then quickly remembered Linde.

She saw the leopard in the arms of the man in green. He had seemingly given her something to eat, and was now gently stroking her. She was about to raise protest, but Linde seemed comfortable in his arms, which was no small feat.

"She's going to be alright," Alfyin reassured her. "She's been through a lot, so she needs some rest. Were you doing anything before this?"

"I… thank ye, thou all art too kinde to me. I deserveth nothing of thou hospitality…"

"Everyone has certain tells to peer into the souls of others. Some can assess intent through their eyes, I do it through how they wield their blade." The victorious duelist added. "I could tell that your actions were misguided, but your intent was pure and noble as any."

"Your intent may be all-well and good, but your actions speak otherwise."

"I'm sorry…" the blonde piped in. "P-Primrose, was it? I apologize for H'aanit's behavior, but up until now, she had been nothing but a selfless help for me. Please let me make it up for you on her behalf."

Ophilia walked over between the two duelists, staff in hand. She raised the golden scepter and hummed a few indecipherable words. A bright, white light engulfed the three of them for a moment. When the light left, both looked down at their hands. The cuts and bruises from before were gone, and they could scarcely tell if they had happened at all.

"My wounds…!"

"The Flame bless you, sir…"

"Olberic. You are a cleric of the Church, are you not?"

"Indeed I am. But I must scurry back there at once, so please excuse me, but I must be going!"

* * *

Ophilia rushed back into the church, searching for the corridor where the archbishop rested. She carried the sacred lantern, hosting the flame, within her belongings. But deep down, despite all of her teachings about the Flame, her care for it came second to that of Lianna.

"Lianna! How is His Excellency?"

"He is sleeping still, but he seems to be resting more easily now."

"Where have you been, Ophilia? Everyone was worried about you."

"Lianna… There is something I must tell you…"

"My… my daughters…"

Both girls, spooked to their core, quickly turned to the rasping of their father, rushing to his side.

"Father!"

"Your Excellency!"

"Forgive me, my girls… for making you worry so… Do not look at me with such sad eyes, Lianna… I will be well again before… Koff koff!"

He could only fool his girls with words for so long, before his body confessed to them.

"Father!"

"I will be well again before long… But now is not the time for such worries. The rite…"

She knew how cataclysmic the knowledge would be, not just to the church, but to her relationship with her sister as well. But Ophilia was forced to throw caution to the wind. The Kindling was the bedrock of the Church, and she couldn't let the archbishop die without knowing that it would be fulfilled on his watch.

"…Your Excellency. I must speak with you."

"…What is it, Ophilia?"

The blonde cleric reached into her belongings, and retrieved the lantern, presenting it to the Father. "I would go on the pilgrimage and complete the Kindling in Lianna's place."

Lianna took every measure to not scream at the top of her lungs. "That's… Aelfric's Lanthorn!? Ophila, you…!"

Josef simply shook his head. "Ophilia…"

"…Your Excellency."

"You are aware that it is a grave sin for one to enter the Cave of Origin without the church's permission."

"…I am, Your Excellency."

Lianna looked incredibly disappointed, displaying mixed feelings toward her sister. "Ophilia… But… but why…"

The archbishop decided to speak up. "…Lianna, leave us now. I would speak with Ophilia alone."

"But Father!"

"Worry not. I will not be punishing your sister, Lianna. But there are matters we must discuss."

"I understand, Father. Just… don't be too hard on her, okay?"

The eldest daughter slowly walked out of the room, taking time to give one last look to her sister and father, before leaving the two in peace.

"At least it would seem you came through your ill-advised journey in one piece."

"I did, Your Excellency."

"And I can assume you set out with no preparation to speak of. For all your quiet dignity…"

' _I did enlist some help…_ ' were her thoughts, but they did not come out. She would not endanger H'aanit for her selflessness. "I am sorry, Your Excellency."

"Oh, Ophilia… I only hope that this kindness of yours will not be your ruin."

"Your Excellency…?"

"You journeyed to the Cave of Origin so that Lianna might stay here with me, did you not? I will inform the pontiff that there has been a change in plans, and that you will perform the Kindling in Lianna's stead. Speak with your sister and learn what she has these many months. Your instruction will be abbreviated, but I know you are up to the task."

"Your Excellency!"

"Your kindness brings warmth and light to all around you, Ophilia, just as does the Sacred Flame."

"Your Excellency, I…"

"Ophilia. When I first took you in, I had a dream."

"A dream, Your Excellency?"

"A dream of you, bearing the Flame into the world. Looking back now, I realize it was an omen of what was to come. Lianna is a fine daughter, my pride and joy. She has served as a daughter of the church far better than I had any right to expect. But I know that it has not come easily to her. She has given up much of her true self to be who she must be for the church… I have not yet told Lianna, but I fear that I am not much longer for this world."

"But Your Excellency…! The healers said…"

"I trust that I know my body better than any other. Oh, Ophilia… I am so proud of you and Lianna both. Promise me that you will love one another forever…"

"Your Excellency… I… Father, please! Please don't leave us!"

"…Thank you, Ophilia."

* * *

Ophilia met with Lianna at the front steps of the Church. They discussed a shortened version of what duties were to be done with regard to the Kindling. The ritual seemed ordinate, but simple enough to grasp.

Lianna also apologized to her sister. She was relieved to hear that Ophilia had taken the Flamebearer responsibility from her, so that she could spend more time with her Father. But at the same time, selfish that she would put her sister in harm's way while she was comfortable at home. Phili instantly forgave her, as it was what she wanted for her sister and friend.

With a singular embrace, she bade her off, and made her way to the center of town. Her first stop would be the inn, to collect her supplies. She had always strayed far from the tavern, a vector of vice in her village. But she saw the mule in front of it, tied to a nearby tree. Octo, did those travelers call it? She looked different, with a saddle and assorted baggage on her back.

She wasn't one to drink, but she would at least take a peak to see off those strangers before setting off on her journey. She would definitely check elsewhere to find H'aanit and thank her as well.

Inside the tavern, she saw quite a number of patrons: faces she didn't recognize, and ones she was surprised she did. But it was the party in the corner that stole her golden eyes' gaze.

Seated at a round table, she saw the same four of them from before. She remembered the large man was Olberic, with a massive drink in his hands. He seemed to be at home. But it was odd, she didn't remember seeing five of them… she knew that fifth one.

"H'aanit!"

The huntress, seated at the edge of the table, turned around to hear the commotion. She saw the Cleric, wide eyed and grinning, and struck a smile of her own.

"Night bode you well, sister Ophilia."

"H'aanit! I just wanted to thank you again for helping me." She stretched her neck to take inventory on the _others_ seated with them. "…And I didn't think you'd make up so soon?"

"They say the Gods gifted us liquor to settle all disputes between foes," Primrose coyly spoke, resting her wine glass on the table. "Our worldviews aren't too different after all."

"I never heard any of the priests say that…"

"Oh, it's one of those special, under the bench sermons." The dancer twirled a strand of hair in her fingers. "I could give you one sometime."

"Stop flirting with her, Primrose."

"Oh Therion, you're just bitter because you talked yourself into buying a Plum Basket for Alfyn."

"Tch… I could've gotten it for free…"

The receiver of said plums slammed his pint on the table. "But the deal was that you'd _buy_ them for me, remember?"

"Master hath taught me, that when a man loseth his word, he loseth his worth."

Therion didn't enjoy being teamed up on. "Why-eth don't you take-eth your fortune cookie nonsense somewhere else-eth?"

"Easy lad…" Olberic took a large chug of his drink, which must have been at least half a pint, and finished it in one go. "Lady Ophilia, why don't you take a seat with us?"

He cleared his belongings on a chair next to his, inviting the Cleric to sit. She was hesitant at first, but eventually acquiesced to the offer.

"H'aanit gave us some details on your story. She told us that you were to embark on a journey of sorts."

"…Yes, that's correct. I possess the Sacred Flame, and I must bring it to the churches to the southwest and southeast. My first destination is Saintsbridge."

The warrior looked to the rest of the group, who all nodded to him, before looking back at the woman in white. "That sounds like an interesting trail, yet a dangerous one to go alone. How would you like to travel with us?"

"Travel with… you?"

"We are all travelers, each with a different mission in mind, setting us off in different directions. But we've brought our swords together to help each other along the way. That's our catch, but we would love to have you join us."

"I-I'd be honored to… but I feel that I would just be a detriment to you… dead weight…"

"Nonesense," H'aanit chimed in. "Thou's healing powers art amazement in themselves."

"H'aanit?! You're with them too?"

"Like I said," Primrose added. "liquor settles all disputes."

"Well… if you don't mind my company, then I would be honored to join you!"

"Welcome aboard," the veteran smiled, extending his gloved hand to hers, and they shook firmly, symbolizing their expansion to six travelers, and a mule.

"One question… H'aanit, what changed your mind on the mul- Octo?"

"I conversen with lady Primrose, and determinedeth that not all is as appears. She holds greate respect for nature, in her own waye… as doe the others. They treat Octo not as a king and his horse, but as one family… partners."

"Even though she is a mule…?"

"Family isn't determined by birth," Alfyn responded. "It's by how you treat those close to you."

' _How you treat those close to you…_ '

"So… where are you heading next?"

"Well…" Primrose was the one to break this news, but not with a jubilant look on her face. "Before our meeting with H'aanit, our plan was to enter Victor's Hollow, and then Stillsnow. Olberic selflessly put off his own mission to find Octo..."

"You're heading for Stillsnow? News has it that a massive avalanche has blocked the main trail into the town. It will be unreachable for some time."

The rest of the patrons were spooked. They didn't realize the Frostlands were that treacherous.

The dancer continued. "That changes things quite a bit, and it would be selfish of me to not do the same. H'aanit's mission in Stonegard smells of desperation, and we are to get there will all due haste."

The Cleric looked at the other party members. The warrior and huntress cooly nodded. Alfyn gave a stupid grin, while Therion crossed his arms and refused to make eye-contact.

"Very well, it sounds like quite an adventure!"

"We've seen a few," the warrior replied. "Get yourself comfortable, and we'll entertain you some."

* * *

A/N: I hope I included enough of "Your Excellency!"

I'm halfway done writing Chapter 9 right now, and it's making me rethink how I want to write some of these future chapters. With a cast already so large, I might have to shift focus on a select number of rotating travelers to highlight in each chapter. Some are naturally going to outshine others, but I'd like to give each a fair shake. Feel free to drop a line to praise/berate/critique me.

Thanks for reading thus far, and as always, happy trails!


	8. Atlasdam Shrugged

A/N: Many apologies for the lack of "Your Excellency" last time, I will work on it in the future. In the meantime, my master plan of unfurling this chapter, at just the right time of year, has been executed perfectly. Enjoy!

* * *

"…And so it was that Atlasdam was founded some two centuries ago."

These lines were delivered in the most perfunctory, succinct manner of speaking. The crier, an educator of some repute and years, had spent hours upon hours preparing for this very lecture. It was one that he had done for a number of years, but each lesson had left him a note to further improve on afterwards. It put teeth behind the saying that experience always comes just after one needs it.

But he could be forgiven for a few mishaps. The day was wrapping up, and the weather was gorgeous, as always, outside. He could imagine the angst and fidgeting of his pupils to escape the infernal prison that was their instruction hall.

But he didn't share in that urgency. He genuinely loved his profession. He devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge, and his modus operandi was to share that knowledge with the world. There was no better place than as a professor in Atlasdam, Orsterra's premier hub of knowledge, where learners of facts could meet facts to be learned.

Some of his colleagues voiced their envy to the good professor. Not only was he teaching the history of Atlasdam, one of the more popular subjects in their school, but he only had to instruct two pupils this semester, which meant he could focus more individualized time on each one. Others would disagree, for who these two particular students were.

He beamed the room as he prepared to ask the class a question, the subject being the decline and fall of a particular southern empire. "Now, who can tell me its name? How about you, Therese?"

The student in question, a young girl just of the age of majority, silver hair and pure of mind, attempted to answer. "I, um… I think it was…"

The professor cut her off, analyzing her nervousness. "Now, now. No need to get all flustered. There's no shame in not knowing an answer, so long as you have a desire to learn."

He gave her time to look into her textbook and pour over its pages to gleam the answer. This was why he assigned _home_ work. Progression through and reinforcement of course material was equal parts in class and outside for retention of knowledge. Why do so few students realize this?

She finally came to the page. "I believe it was… Hornburg?"

He beamed with pride. "That is correct! Hornburg was ruled over by a royal family said to be descended from priests of an ancient and long-forgotten religion. On the other hand, our fair Atlasdam was founded by one of the original clans that inhabited the Flatlands. Who can tell me how many clans lived in the Flatlands at the time?... Your Highness?"

That was correct. His other student was none other than Princess Mary, Crown Princess of Atlasdam, in all her blonde splendor. To say he was under pressure was an understatement.

"The histories have it that eight clans did live in the Flatlands in those days."

"Correct you are, Your Highness!" On the bright side, he didn't have to pad praise for the princess, for she was gifted all her own. "It was a time of great strife here in the Flatlands, as the eight clans waged a long and bitter war. Change would come when the armies of Grandport invaded these lands some two centuries ago. At the time, the rulers of Grandport sought to exert their influence over territories inland. Ironically, this compelled the warring tribes to put aside their differences and unite against their common foe… Oh, but look at the time! We'll pick up where we left off next time."

He collected his belongings, preparing for his next jaunt to his usual haunt, before remembering one last thing. "Don't forget to read chapters three and four _before_ our next lecture… and be _prepared_ to answer questions on any of the material within."

As he walked down toward the exit, he was greeted by a fair smile from the Princess. "Thank you for another most stimulating lecture, Professor Albright."

Cyrus Albright accepted the gesture with humility, and turned to see his other pupil, whose head was downcast in embarrassment. He didn't mean to be too harsh on her: he was firm because he cared, because he knew she was better than what she was letting herself be.

On his way out of the classroom, he was accosted by a guard, who directed him to the Royal Library. He was good friends with the librarian Mercedes, his work wife. According to the guard, Cyrus had just been granted permission into the special archives, which had been a years-long pursuit of his.

Wasting no time, he rushed down the stairs toward the entrance. As he pulled to the front, he could scarcely believe he heard a familiar voice when another, definitively familiar one shouted at him from across the hall.

"Professor Albright!"

It was the Princess, once again, carrying the folds of her dress as she jaunted.

"Oh, thank heavens you're still here. I thought I had missed you."

"What can I do for you, Your Highness?"

"If you can spare the time, I had a question about something we learned today."

"But of course, Your Highness. It would be my pleasure to answer anything. After all, my role as your tutor is as important to me as any of my research. Unfortunately, I cannot spare much time. Is the question a quick one?"

"Yes Professor. It will not take long… I was just wondering about the ancient religion of Hornburg. Pray tell, what did they worship?"

It was a great question, but he had no clue. He sputtered something along the lines of how all texts detailing the era were destroyed. There was truth in that statement, but the remnants of Hornburgian civilization were composed of orphaned children, ancient ruins, bandits, and the dead. Where was he going to find a friendly, wise voice who knew about the Kingdom? He'd love to investigate it, but there was just no way for a man of his means. But she deserved an answer, and he'd give her a proper one.

"I do, however, have a theory of my own… I believe that the royal family of Hornburg were guardians of an ancient power… Mind you, this is not idle speculation. My theory is based on the fact that-"

This conversation went on for several minutes. Both parties completely lost track of the time, until Cyrus realized his error. The two of them walked their separate ways.

Once again, he made his way for the door. Out of the corner of his eye, see saw something in a familiar white, huddled down behind the staircase. "Oh, hello there, Therese. Did you have a question for my as well?"

He backpedaled, shaking her head as she went. "I… I mean, no… Good day, Professor."

The girl ran out of the building, leaving him scratching his head.

* * *

"Good day, Mercedes. Cyrus Albright, here to browse the special archives."

The woman in question, of about his age and hair tied back, gave him a japing look. "Oh, Professor Albright. You're looking quite eager today."

"When I heard that an original copy of _The Church of the Flame: A Complete Historie_ had been donated to our archives, I simply had to be the first to see it."

"You're more on top of our collection than I am. Just sign here…"

He mindlessly signed on the dotted line, without a care if he were to sign his soul away for another good book. This prompted Mercedes to laugh.

"For someone known as the most brilliant mind in the Royal Academy… When you talk about books, you're as giddy as a schoolboy."

"Haha! When you put it that way, yes. Much as a child is fascinated by a new toy… I am titillated by the prospect of acquiring new knowledge."

The librarian officially approved his request, and escorted him to the door of the archives.

The room was dimly-lit and musty. According to top brass, the conditions of the room were more to protect the contents inside rather than the perusal, or preservation, of the items in question. It was a philosophy the professor firmly disagreed with, but was powerless to change. He rummaged through the tall bookcases of titles, attempting to find his own.

' _How odd. The tome is nowhere to be found. Did someone return it to the wrong shelf? Hmm, not here either… These archives are strictly guarded and curated. Wherever could it have gone…?'_

He didn't have much time to think about these questions, because of Mercedes' sudden entrance. "The headmaster would see you at once."

Great. Another impediment on his path to progress.

He couldn't locate the tome, but that was a project he would have to shelve for now. He asked Mercedes to look into the matter in his place, before leaving once more.

He wasn't entirely sure what the headmaster wanted. He didn't always see eye-to-eye with him, but he didn't think he had done anything wrong as of late. He had been tenured for a couple years now anyways, so he should be safe, right?

He approached the large, wooden doors back at the academy, grabbing the metal handles to sound the knock. "Cyrus Albright, by your request, sir."

"Do enter."

He pushed the doors open, bringing him into the familiar scene of the large office of Headmaster Yvon. It was a unique room, the only one, in fact, to house as many books as there were portraits of its inhabitant.

He peered over the desk to see the two figures in front of him. One was a raven-haired woman of middle age in a purple scholar's gown. Next to her, a man in long black robes, with matching swept-back hair. The latter turned around to face Cyrus. "My apologies for summoning you on such short notice."

"How might I be of assistance, Headmaster?"

"That treatise on arcane studies you published… What in the gods' names were you thinking?"

"Sir? I do believe I made my hypothesis perfectly clear…"

"I'm not talking about your _hypothesis_! You went out of your way to cite one of the texts in our special archives. The knowledge housed in those tomes is the Royal Academy's greatest treasure. It is not to be divulged to the public at your whim. Laying it bare in one of your silly papers is out of the question!"

"I am fully aware of the value of those tomes, Headmaster. It is for that very reason I would share the knowledge with my peers-"

"You are to _share_ nothing! That wisdom is for the academy, and the academy alone!"

"But that goes against everything-"

"Enough, Cyrus!"

Even his best argument was sure to fall of deaf ears. Yvon was right, even when he was wrong.

"My sincere apologies, Headmaster. It won't happen again. Is there anything else you need of me?"

"That is all. You may go… Wait. There was one last thing. I heard the special archives will be closing early today. If you have research to do there, I would do so quickly."

It was almost as if the headmaster enjoyed watching him suffer.

"Thank you for your concern, Headmaster. In that case, I'll be on my way."

What he didn't see, as he left the building, was Therese skulk out of the shadows and into the Headmaster's office.

* * *

Returning to the library, he was greeted by Mercedes once again. Unfortunately, she did not locate the book, which meant he had to resort to his own investigation.

According to her, there are only two keys to the vault. The one held by the Headmaster, and the one by the Library guard. He didn't think either had a genuine motive, but he would have to progress with an open mind regardless.

He pinpointed three individuals for his scrutinization. And the game was afoot.

The guardsman of the vault gave a stumbling, yet honest, explanation. He reasserted that he had the key to the archives on his hip at all times, and rejected the notion that he dozed off on duty. Maybe he rested his eyes, just a bit, but he wasn't an avid reader. But Cyrus didn't stop there. He interviewed a number of scholars within the Library, and even the Headmaster himself wasn't free from scrutiny.

He was ready to conclude his thoughts, and raced to the campus quad, his go-to locale for critical thinking.

' _There exist only two keys, belonging to the headmaster and the guard. Since the headmaster's key never leaves his office, and he has no motive, only the guard's key could have been used… and since the guard has been letting his *guard* down…_ '

'… _It would be easy for a dedicated person to take the key off of him. It could only be someone who knew the true value of the tome… someone with a penchant for leaves… someone like…'_

He opened his eyes, ready to come to his stunning conclusion. It would shake the foundations of his professional relationships, but it had to be made. He reached into his pocket, taking out a quill and a piece of parchment, only to come up… empty?

"Gods, what?"

He shifted around, making sure he wasn't going insane. His pen, his academic sword of truth, had been pilfered! But where did it go?

Sure enough, several paces away, he saw a short, young man in the corner. He had pale, white hair and a distinctive purple top. He'd never seen someone of his sort before, but he did have a pen and paper in his hand. He didn't meet the profile of a scholarly type, or even someone who'd pursue an honest career, but at least he looked like he was willing to learn…

Wait, that pen and parchment looked familiar… he had the _same_ as his own? How _coincidental._

"It was you!"

"Who? Me?"

"Gah! Who are _you?_ "

When in deep thought, the scholar tended to close his eyes and let his mind, and body, wander on their own. He dramatically swung his hands in any manner of direction. He discovered this trait when his finger ended up tapping the nose of a random passerby. He opened his eyes, backpedaling to take in the figure.

"I was wondering the same about you. I'm Alfyn. Just passing through."

"Oh, I see, carry on…"

Cyrus turned around and returned to his thoughts. ' _Wait a minute. Thrusting into an open dialogue with an investigator is exactly what a culprit would do to shirk off suspicion!_ '

"Hiding in plain sight, I see." He spun back around to the new man. "Where were you last night? Really?"

"Uh, I was collecting some herbs with some fri- travelers of mine. I found a whole bunch of Noxroot out on the plains! It's amazing."

"Hmmm, I'm going to need some more information…" The professor's hand was on his chin, gently stroking the firm feature as he thought. His eyes darted along the frame of the man in front of him, checking every nook and cranny. He seemed relatively fit, he did wear the green stripes of Apothecaries, as well as a hefty bag… a hefty bag? Suspicious indeed. "That bag looks fairly large. You could hold a lot of things in there… and a lot of books."

"Books?" said Alfyn. "I learned my craft through word of mouth. Never was one for studyin'."

' _A provincially trained Apothecary? I fear for the fate of the future…'_ Cyrus thought.

"Hey," the Apothecary added. "These are some spiffy robes. Who's your tailor?"

"Oh, these?" Cyrus pulled his cape to the front, caressing the fine fabric. "These were spun by a master tailor here in Atlasdam. His name is Rico, and he only uses the finest silks imported from Grandport. Let me tell you, it took me five years to earn enough leaves for my first set."

" _Five years_? Gadzooks, that sounds expensive. What do you do for work?"

"Oh, I'm a professor at the Atlasdam Academy. It's not as if I'm not well-compensated, it's more of a testament to the quality of the goods."

"Wow, a real professor! Zeph is going to kill me when I tell him! If ya don't mind me askin', where is the Academy?"

"Why, it's right behind us."

Cyrus stepped to the side and extended his arm to the massive complex behind him.

"B-but that looks like a Palace!?"

"It is, in truth, both."

"Wow! So, you must work for the king, huh?"

"Even Kings and Queens need to learn the ways of the world, and someone has to instruct them on the beauty of knowledge and truth."

"That sounds like loads of fun. I always imagined schools to be filled with stuffy old codgers and mindless children."

"We are _not_ stuffy old codgers, nor are our children _mindless_. That's complete hogwash. Why, the entire foundation of the Kingdom of Atlasdam rests upon the rock of knowledge. It is our most treasured treasure. You see…"

* * *

"How long have they been going at it?"

"About thirty minutes, Lady Ophilia."

"Seriously, H'annit? What could be so interesting?"

"Whatever it is, it's wrapping up now." Primrose walked forward, stretching her arms as the rest of their coterie looked on from the sidelines. She had long since ditched her Frostlands outfit and returned to her dancer's attire, much to the chagrin of Olberic, who went on about "wasted leaves." It wasn't entirely clear how much time was spent between Alfyn and this mystery man, but he never spent this much time talking with any passerby, ever. It was time to reclaim the mission and get back on track. ' _Even if this man is ridiculously good-looking.'_

Most of their conversation was indecipherable, but it became much clearer the closer she strode toward them. She could hear the mystery man saying, "…truly, I never saw a finer bookcase. The wood was spectacular, and I had to buy it."

"That's enough, Alfyn." The dancer lightly double-tapped the blonde man's shoulder, grabbing his attention.

"Primrose? What's up?" He jolted in surprise, rapidly spinning to meet his fellow traveler.

"We're losing track of time. We're supposed to meet for lunch in five minutes."

"I apologize, my lady, it was my fault." The handsome stranger spoke directly to her, cautionary sincerity in his tone. "I have a bad habit of editorializing in conversation."

"Oh, do you now? Maybe you would like to make it up to me somehow?"

"Ah yes, my girl. I'd be delighted to invite you to take one of my courses. Cyrus Albright, at your service."

"Your… _courses_."

"Yes, but today is after hours, and… Alefan forgive me, what am I doing!?" Cyrus ran his hands through his hair, pulling on his thick locks. "I completely forgot the book!"

"The book?" asked Alfyn.

"Yes, I came out here to investigate a missing book from the special archives. I believe I've narrowed down a suspect, so I must be off."

The scholar began to walk away from the quad, leaving the two remainders puzzled. After a moment, he pivoted back toward them, an idea clearly crossing his mind.

"Say, why don't you join me? I'd love to give a free lecture on investigation to those who treasure the pursuit of knowledge."

Apothecary and dancer glanced at each other, with each one somehow more confused than the other. Primrose shrugged, and Alfyn turned back to him. "Sure! Can we bring along a few others?"

"A few? I don't see why not, though I don't imagine it would take terribly long."

* * *

"This place is dank."

None said it, but the entirety of the group agreed with Ophilia. She unfurled her lantern, carrying the Sacred Flame, to illuminate the caverns that were known as the Subterranean Study. Even when paired with Olberic's own lantern, the dark and musty corridors were dangerous to travel.

Nestled under the basement of the Academy, it was hidden from the light of day, and the eyes of the public. This was the frequent haunt of Russell, an eccentric academic who preferred to pursue his research in solitude. Cyrus was never one to judge, and as an academic, he was familiar with differing ways to produce a finished product. But the location of such a facility only gave poor connotations to the man who resided here. He pitied him.

As was the case with caves of familiar climate, they were frequently occupied with a familiar pest.

"Aiyeee! Get them off me!"

Therion frantically tried plying the bats off of his poncho. They were particularly drawn to him and his white hair, a feature that he wasn't too fond of. The girls giggled at his plight, while Cyrus simply sighed.

"Please try to keep it down. Your outbursts will only further startle the bats." He said.

"Well gee, Mr. Genius, thanks for that interesting lecture," Therion snidely retorted.

"Anytime, my boy. Did you know that the smidgens on the ceiling aren't stalactites, but actually-"

"I thinketh he'd rather not knowe." Interrupted H'aanit.

And so, the group continued marching through the cavern, eventually reaching a dimly-lit region toward the back of the cave. Cyrus was the first to climb the small staircase.

In a drastic change from the rest of the Subterranean, this area lived up to the name "Study." There were several bookshelves along the walls, filled with various books. There were also cupboards, long tables with various flasks, and even a kiln. Off to the side, there were large brown vases, dimly illuminated by the cheap lanterns hanging from above. In the middle of all of this was a man, of around Cyrus' age, playing with something.

"Professor Albright!?" the man dashed forward. "Are you always in the habit of barging into your peers' offices while they're working?"

"My apologies. I would have knocked, but… I didn't see a door." The Professor walked further into the room, taking in the dank scene around him. It became evident this place wasn't cleaned in some time… if at all. But one recollection of his own dormitory would bring up throwing stones in glass houses. "Apropos of nothing, mayhap you've heard that a certain tome was stolen from the archives."

The man took a step back. "…I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about."

"Come now, Russell. Playing dumb is just going to drag this out for the both of us. So let's cut straight to the heart of the matter: you're a thief, and I can prove it."

"Wh-what!? The hells you can!"

"Unfortunately for you, at precisely the moment you were trying to sneak back with the key… Your friend the guardsman was just waking from his little slumber."

Russell grabbed the follicles of his hair, displaying his discomfort. "B-but that's impossible! He was asleep, I'm positively- Ah!"

"Keep up on our friend's somnolence, are we, old chum?"

"I-it was a slip of the tongue! I tell you, I know nothing about this gods-damned book!"

"Figured you'd say as much. Then perhaps you'd care to accompany me to the academy? To prove your innocence, of course."

Nobody in the room was sure as to why, but something in Russell snapped. He reached into his robe for something…

"D-damn it! Damn it all to hell! It was the perfect plan! If not for your bloody meddling, I could have had it all!"

The item from his robe was revealed to be a flask, filled with some blue liquid. Russell tossed the contents on the ground, and from them, several water Water Wisps emerged. There were many of them, and they kept multiplying. The travelers were visibly disturbed by them.

"There's so many!" shouted Ophilia.

"Our odds look grim." Added Primrose.

"N-none of you are leaving! You're all staying with me!"

As Russell frantically chanted his ravings and the Wisps multiplied, Cyrus was content to… just stand there? The others were aghast to see the man so calm while the lot of them readied their weapons to fend for themselves.

"Fear not, my friends. Allow me."

The Professor reached into his own robe, this time pulling out a singular book. He flipped through the pages, unclear which one he was searching for, before pinpointing a particular area. He took the time to chant some indecipherable words.

Suddenly, a torrent of thunder erupted into the room. Linde cowered at the sharp sound. In the aftermath, all the Water Wisps were gone without a trace.

"D-damn you!"

Cyrus referenced some more words. This time, a flurry of ice came from his fingertips, instantly freezing the rogue researcher. Primrose had to rub her shoulders to keep warm.

Following up on his momentum, he uttered a final series of words from his book. He snapped his fingers, and a gush of red-hot fire emitted from his palms, melting away Russell's ice-prison and forcing him to his knees.

"I swear, I never meant to…! I just needed the money…"

Cyrus wasn't the cruelest in victory. "That tome would fetch a small fortune. This is true. And yet, did you not for a moment consider the consequences? In stealing that tome, you would steal from our students something more valuable than all the realm's riches. A grave crime no matter who would perpetrate it, but all the more unforgivable when committed by one who calls himself a scholar."

Cyrus made a final incantation, placing a magical band on the defeated Russell. He then walked toward the group, still in bewilderment as to what had happened.

"My work here is done. Now, I won't be the first to call for an evacuation from this place into the light of day, now will I?"

* * *

The stolen tome was promptly returned to the Library, to an ecstatic Mercedes. To their delight, they also acquired the names of various members connected with the other missing books, and have begun a plan to reacquire them. Russell was now in custody at the castle lockup, but with opportunity for clemency for cooperation. Atlasdam prided itself on rehabilitation over retribution, a system that Cyrus treasured over the "barbarous" justice beyond.

The Scholar looked through the list of missing books, drafting diagrams of the ones whose whereabouts they knew of and the ones they don't. One of them caught his eye.

"What's this? It says there's another book still missing. Did that scoundrel of a scholar steal this one as well?"

He pointed to the title in question, while Mercedes re-adjusted her glasses.

"Ah, _From the Far Reaches of Hell._ No, I can assure you that he did not. It's been missing for some fifteen years now." Russell's borrowing from the archives, it turns out, only went back for two years.

According to Mercedes, it was an ancient compendium of ancient magic, and the oldest book within the archives. A _unique antique_ , as the Professor would chuckle, while the librarian groaned.

Fortunately for her, the Headmaster's Assistant entered the library, summoning him to Yvon's office in that instant.

* * *

"Well, it could have been worse."

If Cyrus' mouth could ever have gotten himself into trouble, this would be one of them.

The purpose of Yvon's meeting was to discuss _rumors_.

Rumors of his relationship with the Princess.

He hated the rumor mill. He hated gossipmongers. And he especially hated when they came for him.

But rumors, even if they were false, had a bad habit of leaving an imprint on the minds of others. According to Yvon, even if the idea was complete balderdash, it would still spread quickly and soil Her Highness' reputation forever. To protect her dignity, Cyrus' absence would be necessary, by the sword or otherwise. Not a termination, as that would implicate guilt. A leave of absence would do, and upon Cyrus' return, the issue would likely blow over.

How many lives have been ended, ruined, disgraced, all on account of a mere pointing of the finger? What justice is there for the accused?

Yvon's Assistant, Lucia, affirmed that the best strategy in face of such accusations was to say nothing, and to do nothing, for without proof, they are nothing but mere rumors.

But this opportunity was fortuitous. The loss of _From the Far Reaches of Hell_ piqued his curiosity, and he was dying to get away and investigate it. He knew of a colleague in the Clifflands who might help him, and with this change in events, he could pursue his heart's desire without guilt.

As he descended down the steps of the Academy for the last time in some while, he spied the familiar group of renegades from before. It seemed like they wanted to see him off before departing on their next adventure, and he would find it fitting to bid them adieu as well. He appreciated their company, to be sure. He walked down to confront him.

Lo and behold, he was confronted first.

"Professor!"

"Oh, Therese. What is it?"

"I… I heard that you were leaving the academy."

"Then you heard true."

His pupil's pupils dilated, her face frozen in abject horror, blood leaving her face.

"P-Professor, I'm… I'm so sorry!"

He took a deep sigh, disappointed at what had happened, but he couldn't help but smile. He walked forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. "…I see. So you were the source of the rumor."

"You… you knew?"

"Not until just this moment, when you apologized. And yet, I cannot fathom your motive. Why would you tell such a terrible lie?"

Therese pulled away, unable to maintain eye-contact with him. "You're always helping Her Highness. Answering her every question… I just wanted you to… pay more attention to me."

Her eyes were steeled shut, discomfort obvious to any. He looked around as he processed this revelation. Where did the others go? Oh well.

"And that's why you went to the headmaster?"

"Y-yes… But I… I just wanted to get you in a little trouble… I didn't think they would- I am so sorry, Professor. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Worry not, my dear. It just so happens that I was looking for a good excuse to go on a journey."

Her eyes perked up, life rushing back to her face as never before. "You were?"

"For some time now, I've wanted to travel the realm, and see what can be learnt beyond these halls. I daresay the timing couldn't have been better. You see, there's a certain matter I simply can't wait to investigate. So fret not, my girl. If anything, you've done me a favor. Besides, I am not entirely without fault in the matter. Indeed, I have not been as attentive to you as I should. Had I realized your true intentions sooner, I would not be in this position."

"Awww!" cooed Ophilia, hiding behind one of the nearby stone railings.

"Shhh! Keep it down or they'll catch us!" Primrose chastised.

All the blood in Therese's body rushed back to her face, her body lurched forward unconsciously. "Professor... Wh-whatever do you-"

"If only I had realized how devoted you were to your studies, my dear girl!"

The schoolgirl snapped back. "My… _studies_." She ended flatly.

The professor continued editorializing. "I have always striven to treat all my students equally. And yet, Her Highness is always eager to ask questions, and I was all too eager to answer them. In doing so, I may have given the impression that I favored her above you and the others. This was not my intention, but I am at fault all the same. Yes, if only I had seen you for the ardent and devoted young scholar that you are!"

"Um… Professor? Perhaps you're not quite as sharp as I thought you were…"

"Fifty leaves, even." Therion whispered from beyond the bush.

"Okay, okay, you win." Alfyn dug up the money from his satchel of succor, giving it to his "buddy."

"He's going to be alone forever."

"Yeah, but they're made for each other!"

Olberic decided to weigh in. "They are both mentally deficient, but in different areas…"

As did Primrose. "What do you call an attractive airhead?"

Therion seemed to know. "A Primrose."

His face met the firm back of her hand.

"Um, guys, please don't fight…" pleaded Ophilia, but to no avail.

"Oh, hello there my friends."

The bickering bunch dropped everything and looked up, seeing the Professor view them from above.

"O-oh, Mr. Cyrus!"

"I was wondering for a moment where you perchance scurried off to. I didn't want to leave town before giving my farewells."

"What a coincidence, we were also just about to set off!" Alfyn chimed in. "I'm sorry about your job, Professor."

"It's not of great concern, and I have no doubt that I will get back on my feet given enough time… and where are you headed, may I ask?"

"Our first destination is Stonegard, and from there, wherever the wind blows."

"Astounding! Now, if I may be so bold, would you mind the company of one other?"

All of them looked to each other, each of them nodding, save Therion, who couldn't be bothered to protest.

"Great," he said. "One more mouth to feed."

"I can assure you that I will be of great self-sufficiency. I could contribute a great deal of wisdom in the ways of the world, in addition to my magic."

"Indeed, your magics are astounding, powers we've all seen firsthand…" Olberic mused. "Very well then, Cyrus, welcome aboard!"

"But please stay away from Alfyn…" Primrose added.

* * *

The travelers, now numbering seven, a snow leopard, and a mule, set out from the gates of Atlasdam. The reached the fork of the road: they were to take the southern route, one that would lead through Rippletide on the way to Stonegard, while the northern route went toward Noblecourt.

Despite the posh exterior from the urbane scholar, Cyrus packed quite a minimalist load. With only a small bag of what he could carry, he quickly assimilated into the group. With him came an updated version of the _Orsterra Universalis_ Map. It was a significant upgrade on the filthy one Primrose picked up in the Sunlands.

"Judging by my calculations, _this_ should be the fastest route to Stonegard…" he mumbled.

"It's also the only road to Stonegard," replied Olberic.

"Say, you seem to know a great deal about the Highlands, Sir Olberic."

Cyrus looked up, taking in the distinct details of the Warrior. He quickly came to a revelation. "Your armor looks remarkably similar to those worn by the Knights of Hornburg."

"You would be correct. I was once a selfsame knight long ago."

"Fascinating! My apologies, but I have waited years to meet a soul from the fallen kingdom of Hornburg. I don't mean to be a vulture picking on a corpse, but I'd love to pick your brain."

"You incur no such offense. I wear my scars with pride and distinction."

"You better be careful," Primrose called from behind them. "He's called the _Unbending_ Blade of Hornburg, Olberic Eisenberg, for a reason."

"Olberic Eisenberg!? The Unbending Blade!?" Cyrus shouted, deeply interested.

"Aye, so you have heard of me…" The knight replied cooly.

"Not at all."

"That… is quite a relief."

"Beg my pardon, but could you please answer this question I have on Hornburgian custom…"

The prattle and drabble were blurred out to Therion's ears. He only focused on the alternate path in the road as he continued south.

* * *

A/N: I'm excited for the next chapter, which has some shenanigans in it, so stay tuned.

Thank you as always for reading, and happy trails!


	9. A Merchant I was Meant to Be

"That was a good fight. You have my thanks."

Women, children, and all assortments of passerby fled in horror. Lines of unconscious bodies paved the road from the east into the sleepy seaport of Rippletide, a strong trade node in the Coastlands. Although it possessed little in land area, it made up for it with beautiful beaches, glistening sands, and the salty smell of the sea. It was a popular honeymoon spot within Orsterra for that very reason.

But no one in their right mind would make that trip now.

"May the Flame forgive us…" Ophilia lamented, looking downcast upon the bodies as they walked.

"May the Flame give us more," Primrose retorted, flipping her fingers through a fat stack of parchment. "We collected about five hundred leaves off these people. You would think a town of this reputation would have more prosperous inhabitants."

"Don't you mean _I_ collected those leaves, and you just scavenged their forms?" Olberic replied.

"Tch. It would have been bloodless if you let me just solicit them."

"But that's wrong, Therion!" Alfyn added. "Stealing isn't the right way to go."

"The scoundrel haveth a pointe." H'aanit spoke up. "What maketh thievery wrong, yet mugging to be righteous?"

"Whatever the perusal of income may be," Cyrus chimed in. "It is obvious beyond reasonable doubt that we are low on financial resources. We won't have enough to apportion lodgings for the lot of us tonight, and have rations to last us to Stonegard."

"Well…?" said Therion. "Don't you think it's time to let me break loose?"

"If I may, Therion, even if we permitted you to engage in your trade, judging by the income we've obtained through the brute force method… we'd be scraping by on scraps by the time we get there. The folks out here do not have the deepest pockets on the continent…"

"Then let's go back to Atlasdam…"

"Enough!" Olberic shouted. "We will not be engaging in anymore thievery, nor shall we be mugging these kind people. We have water, and we will have bread, and that will suffice as it did in the barracks."

The party of nine moved forward, seeing nary a soul in sight. Would they even be able to purchase that bread?

The idea of fighting passerby for leaves was of Olberic's mind. He remembered the night in Sunshade when he engaged that bouncer and left with a hefty sum. He soon learned that not many within the Inner Sea region carried leaves in such a quantity. But if he didn't provide enough leaves for their ever-growing family, what would he be but naught a failure?

Even if they allowed Therion to entertain his desires, it would mean nothing. Owning all the wealth in the world is meaningless is one does not know the true value of it, or how to spend and save it. Fools and their money are soon parted. It would be something they would have to learn the hard way.

"Alfyn, couldn't you just concoct some mixtures together as a source of food?"

"I can't, Ophilia. They don't have any nutritional value. It would be like founding a town on rainwater."

The group made it to the center of town, the brick pavement still fresh from the fleet of feet frittering upon its frame. There were stands of armaments and tonics on the streets, but with no one to people their treats. Cyrus spied a number of patrons within the local alehouse, moving enthusiastically and uninhibited. It was entirely peculiar.

' _That's them! Swords and daggers and bows, oh my!'_

The scholar could spy a massive ship within the Rippletide Harbor, evident that there were indeed more people within this settlement, albeit visitors. If they got closer to the harbor, they could maybe bump into someone, and…

"Excuuuuuse me, gals and gents."

Their wish was granted. They were accosted by a person in a long, white sundress paired with a brown, leather vest. The enquirer had sharp green eyes, bobbed brown hair, and a distinct feathered brown hat. Even more striking was the overly-sized brown backpack resting on the figure's shoulders.

But it was a teenage girl.

"Ah, welcome to Rippletide. I can tell you're all from out of town."

"Yes, we are." Ophilia replied. "But we haven't run into many locals here, unbefitting of the number of houses in this town…"

"There's a good reason for that…" The young girl said. "We always carry the best wares in all of Orsterra!"

"So good that nobody shows up…" Therion snubbed.

"Hey! I'd prove you wrong, if there weren't something more… pressing… going on right now."

"Pressing?" Ophilia perked up.

"From the looks of those weapons on your hips, I reckon you're all sellswords?"

"Quite observant of you, young one." Olberic chimed in. "But I gave up that lifestyle some time ago."

"I'll pay you three thousand leaves, and nothing more, for your services."

"Three thousand leaves!?" Alfyn exclaimed. "Do ya want us to rob a bank?"

The girl turned away to the side, lightly pressing her fingers together. "Not to rob, no… to reclaim something from robbers!"

"By the Gods!" Ophilia said. "You were just robbed? Is that why nobody is in the town square?"

"That's correct. We just had a run in with some pirates, who took our wine! And I'm going to get it back…!"

Noticing a sudden change in tone of voice, Primrose gently strutted toward the young girl, resting a hand on her shoulder. "But what?"

"B-but… I've never been in a real fight before, s-so…"

"You would charge head-first into danger against dastardly pirates, knowing full-well the odds were against you?"

"We must help her!"

All eyes turned to the voice of Ophilia's sudden outburst.

She continued. "Money or no, the lot of this town will suffer so long as these renegades continually threaten their way of life. We can't just sit here idly!"

"I agree," said Olberic. "I like her pluck as well. All those in favor, say 'aye.'"

"Ayes" came from all, except Therion, who looked off to the shimmering seaside.

"Therion, you can keep whatever you can carry if you join."

"Now that's more like it…" The thief replied.

"Now, young lass…" The warrior bent down on one knee, placing his firm hands on her shoulders. "What is your name?"

"Glad you can help! I'm Tressa Colzione!"

* * *

The path to the Caves of Maiya was just as idyllic as the one into Rippletide. The sands were just as glistening, the rocky overgrowth just as aggressive, and the smell just as adventurous. It was a shame that such a quaint retreat had to be soiled with scurvy sea dogs.

"I assume you have a plan to get in, Tressa." Olberic inquired.

"You bet I do! You just gotta carry this barrel until we get there."

And so, the party continued. They eventually spied a lone lookout outside of a large, dark cave.

"Not _you_ again! You lookin' for trouble, brat!?"

The young girl moved a finger to her lips, indicating to the group to let her do the talking. She walked forward to the Pirate Lackey. "No, siree! I came to apologize on behalf of my town. We should've known we didn't stand a chance against you swashbucklers. This is for you. I hope you can forgive us."

She motioned Olberic forward, barrel of wine in tow. He begrudgingly placed the casket in front of the blue-bandanaed sea dog in front of them.

"Wine!" The Lackey exclaimed, greedily rubbing it with his fingers. "The cap'nses'll be happy to see this."

She waited until he took the barrel out of sight, before flashing the "V" sign to her hired help.

"Just wait a little bit…"

…

"It should be just about time. All right, let's go!"

"Time for what?"

Tressa turned to the inquisitive Ophilia. "That barrel of wine was laced with Sleepweed. Despite the cave being filled with pirates, they should all be asleep by now."

"And here I thought we were facing a full-frontal assault…" said the warrior.

"Nope! We can get in and out without firing an arrow! But just in case it didn't work…"

"Heh," Therion added. "Not half bad, kid. You really know how to sell yourself."

The young girl defiantly put her hands on her hips. "It helps to be a merchant!"

The party, now numbering eight, entered the dimly-lit caves. When they came upon the first soul within, lying on the ground, they proceeded with caution. Alfyn quickly jaunted to the body, checking him for any signs of condition.

"Yep… he's fast asleep!" he said.

"Then he won't mind if I take these…" Therion quipped as he picked up a pouch of coins.

It was an ingenious plan. As he passed by each of the slumbering pirates, raising his lantern to examine each one, he marveled at the ingenuity that went into such a simple, yet effective, plan. Were it left up to him, he would have just charged in through the front.

' _But the others…_ '

It was true, each of them was talented in their own, unique way. They had confronted numerous obstacles, ranging from Lizardmen, overgrown Froggen, vicious wolves, and the like. But every time they were confronted by a group of insidious men, especially within the Sunlands and Ravus Manor, he had always taken the charge. Fighting all assortment of monsters is one thing. Fighting men, especially trained men, is another.

These children weren't ready for what they were getting into.

In a world were military-aged men were in short supply, and the ones who existed were tied up in private companies or in crime, it was a dangerous place for green recruits. They were greatly fortunate that these pirates were asleep, lest they would put up a formidable challenge, even if they were inexperienced. Men were a danger exceeded only by the Gods, and it would be imperative on him to protect this group from them, for only he understood their depravity in the fires of war.

They rounded another corner, this time bringing them into a dark corner of the cave. It had a wooden pier cut out for small pontoon boats. It would be a convenient navigation route for heavier heists. Gingerly, the eight of them tip toed around the slumbering pirates on the boards. Unfortunately, they were not alone.

"Thosen are bats ahead." H'aanit whispered. "Do you think they would waken them?"

"Leave this to me!" Tressa eagerly reached into her massive bag. The others were bewildered at how there was any method to her madness, but she didn't seem lost at all. Eventually she pulled out something strange, and clutched it with glee.

"Have a taste of this!" She whispered once more, letting the strange, green substance from her fingertips. The green substance morphed in the air, swirling into a thick, green gust from her very fingertips.

"Fire!?"

"Nope, Wind! Specifically, the Trade Winds!"

The green wind quickly met the bats, pushing the winged creatures further into the abyss. They wouldn't return to bother them again.

The winds did have an unfortunate side effect. The torches that aligned the causeway through the cave were blown out in the ruckus. The lanterns they brought into the cave wouldn't suffice on their own. It would be too risky to not step on any toes, literally.

"Oh no! Now we can't see. This is my fault…"

"Um, Tressa…" Ophilia stepped forward. "I have an idea. I want to try something out, if nobody objects."

"By all means," Cyrus replied. "Give it a shot."

The Cleric hummed for a moment, lightly tapping her staff on the ground twice. From the head of the staff, a small ball of white, pure light emitted, illuminating their immediate surroundings far greater than anything they had prior.

"Wow Ophilia, what was that?" Alfyn asked.

"The archbishop taught us Clerics to harness the power of the Light. Lianna was always so much better at this magic than I was, so I'm surprised it worked."

"Next time, you should try it on those bats. You're so much more than just our support."

"I will keep that in mind. Thanks, Alfyn."

AS they rounded the next corner, they could immediately tell that their adventure was almost over. They saw a massive chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and just beneath it an elevated platform, which luckily had stairs leading straight to it.

At the top of the stairs, a wonderous sight was to be beheld. Overflowing chests filled to the brim with gold lined the walls. Priceless portraits and vases flanked the empty space between them. Even ornate Sunlands Carpets were strewn on the floor. Within the center of the room, sat a large casket of the wine stolen earlier, and off to the side, another, empty casket of similar volume. This was presumably the drugged drink, which was fully imbibed by the patrons they crossed before.

Tressa immediately identified the two men sleeping on the floor in front of them. Both of them wore a white bandana, different from the blue bandanas they met before. The skinny one was known as "Mik" and the stout one was "Mak." Both claimed to be the "Captain" of their crew. Oh, the sweet irony that the items that they would take while the weak quaked, would in turn be taken back under their noses!

Tressa made a few steps forward, but froze suddenly by an interruption.

Mik stood up upright instantly.

"Who goes there?"

' _Rats! We've been had!_ '

"I'll have you know…" the pirate said, drooping from side to side, "That _I'm_ the Cap'n of this crewwww…"

His arms started moving on their own, while the "Cap'n" himself seemed to be frolicking around the room. The young merchant rubbed her eyes and did a double take.

"No way!" she whispered. "He's _asleep_!"

"Hoi!" Mak shouted, also rocketing upwards. " _I'm_ the Cap'n, and yer me first mate!"

"Is he also…"

"Yes, Cyrus, he's also asleep."

"Oh, good to know Tressa. So, I interpret this as still a success?"

"Not quite… I've never heard of sleep _dancing_ before, but there's no other explanation for what they're doing."

Her words rung true. The two white bandanas staggered in random jigs around each other, each with eyes sealed shut and following only each other's voices. Fortunately, they were completely unaware of the travelers' presence, and so they stood and contemplated their options.

"We must tread carefully… if we upset their natural cycle, then they will surely snap out of it and wake up."

"I think we can take them, Cyrus."

"Primrose, you saw how many pirates we passed on the way here. It would be bad news to drag all this stolen loot out of here with them up our pants."

"Duly noted, Alfyn…"

Meanwhile, Tressa and Olberic were of two minds. In their experiences with men such as these, they didn't think that the situation could get any weirder.

The Gods wouldn't let them down, this time.

" _We're a school of salty swanks!"_

Mik cried out.

" _And we're lootin' across Orsterra."_

Mak followed up.

" _Cross us once or twice…"  
"… _And we'll send you to Galdera!"__

"…Olberic, tell me, have you ever seen…"

"…No, Therion. I've never seen…"

Sleepwalking, dancing, signing pirates.

"This is just ridiculous…" Tressa groaned.

The young girl pinched her eyes shut in frustration, but just for a moment. She did a complete shift and snapped her fingers, with a clearly different expression on her face.

"…This is just ridiculous! I have a plan, guys, but we need to play along."

"What'ya mean?" asked Alfyn."

"Follow my lead."

The merchant slowly but surely walked forward, huffing her chest as she went. What she lacked in experience she made up for in pluck. The dynamic duo working off of each other could play to their benefit, but only time would tell.

"Come on, Cap'nses! We need to plunder that town!" She called out.

The two white bandanas stopped suddenly, and shifted towards her. Their expressions were clearly blank, processing the information coming in. Taking a deep breath, Mik let out a retort.

" _Send for the King, cuz we're comin' for his crown!"_

Next came Mak.

" _The fiercest pirates of the Coastlands."  
" _More persistent than fleas."_  
" _From the Swamps to the Snows."_  
" _We're the kings of the Seas."__

Both interlocked arms over one another's shoulders, singing in unison.

" _A pirate's credo, the strong will take. The weak shall tremble, the weak shall quake!"_

"Psst," Tressa urged to the seven travelers. "Get those bags ready and load them up! Everything must go go go!"

She watched as they unfurled their large brown bags, each the size of her, and filled them up with whatever they could carry. She wanted to join in too, but she noticed a bit of wavering from the white bandanas in front of her.

She called out again.

" _Let's follow the map to the treasure!"_

" _We'll celebrate in the town of one thousand pleasures."_

Said Mak.

Then came Mik.

" _All the riches be ours."  
" _With doubloons we will be sailin'."_  
" _We'll only be stopped…"_  
"… _When our rhymes start failin'."__

" _A pirate's credo, the strong will take. The weak shall tremble, the weak shall quake!"_

The young merchant was pleased, their game would still go on. She looked around to see the status of the haul. Primrose appeared to be fixated on various jewelry, throwing three tiaras into her sack. Therion monopolized the gold coins, or at least the ones he could carry. Cyrus gingerly plied at the artworks, although he spent more time admiring them than storing them. All in all, they would need more time.

"All right men," She returned to the dancing duo.

" _It's time to set sail!"_

Mik replied.

" _Our victories shall be beyond the pale."_

With Mak as a follow up,

" _Like Cap'n Leon before us."  
" _We will take what we please."_  
" _They can fight us on the beaches..."_  
"… _But they'll end up on their knees."__

" _A pirate's credo, the strong will take. The weak shall tremble, the weak shall quake!"_

More loot was filling their coffers. Soon, Rippletide would be prosperous again, but they need more time.

Tressa dusted off her cap, trying to think of another line to prompt them with. She eventually got one.

" _Some scurvy sea dogs say pirates can't sing songs."_

The ever-jubilant Mak came forth.

" _We'll show those scalawags we know it won't be long."_

Followed by Mik.

" _Villagers know our might."  
" _Our prowess can't be compared."  
" _When they meet our dancing jig…"_  
_  
_

"… _They'll all be runnin' scared!"_

"Alfyn!" Tressa decried.

The Apothecary had somehow managed to snooker his way between the two pirates, interlocking his arms around their shoulders. To everyone's surprise, they managed to mingle around him and continued as normal, even welcoming his note.

"Hoho!" Mik bellied. "That was superb!"

' _No, it wasn't…_ ' She thought to herself.

It wasn't ideal that one of their hired hands had abandoned his post and joined in on the merriment, but so long as the rest of the operation proceeded, they had little to fear. Still, she had to say something… without waking their company.

"No time for games!" she said.

" _We need to work!"_

Gleefully responding, Alfyn stayed true to character.

" _Labor alongside song is just a little quirk!"_

Playing off him, Mik continued.

" _If ye come to judge us…"_

Then Mak.

"… _We're gonna be frank."  
" _If ya curse our bards…" Alfyn followed.  
__

" _We'll make you walk the plank!"_

" _A pirate's credo, the strong will take. The weak shall tremble, the weak shall quake!"_

' _Will this ever end?_ ' Tressa thought.

She returned her gaze to the others to see their progress. They were almost done collecting what was needed, but there were a few stragglers. Olberic, with an extremely stretched out bag over his shoulders, was holding out another stretched-out sack for Primrose, who was marveling at the glittering treasures in her hands. Ophilia and H'aanit both had a way to go and elected to work together, but while the former's speed could be explained by her upbringing, the latter had no true assessment of the treasure in front of her, only that it was held in value to others. Cyrus and Therion seemed to be doing their own things.

" _Just a little more…"_

She said, albeit a bit too loudly.

" _Bring out yer chalk if ye want to keep score."_

Replied Mak.

' _Okay, this is driving me nuts!_ ' Tressa thought.

" _You fancy yourselves seadogs,  
_

 _Slovenly bragging about your needs_

 _Cut-throat pirates don't describe you_

 _I'd call you lazy thieves!"_

" _A pirate's credo, the strong will take. The weak shall tremble, the weak shall quake!"_

Little Colzione slapped herself. It wasn't undeserved.

"Hey, Tress…"

It was Alfyn, whispering gingerly into her ear. How he snuck out of the pirates' grasp, she did not know.

"What is it, Mr. Alfyn?"

"I think we finished up here."

"Oh, excellent!" She looked over at the crew, but caught a shimmering glimpse in the corner. "Over there, I see a piece of silver."

Mik interjected.

" _The tavern be next, to which we will…"_

"… _Pilver?"_

Mak asked.

"Aw shoot, I got nothin'"

"Guess this jig's over, then."

Both bleached bandanas rubbed their eyes, getting the dust sealing their lids shut out. They opened their eyes to the sight in front of them.

"Wh-who are ye and what are ye doin' in here?" Mik asked.

"Look!" Mak asserted. "Them brown bags, they've come fer our treasure!"

"Stealin' from thieves, how low can you go!?"

"Hey now!" The little merchant asserted herself. "None of that belonged to you in the first place! We're just returning it to its rightful owners!"

"Them rightful owners be us!"

To their merit, nothing they had said had yet to be logically inconsistent.

"…That's quite enough. You've done well, my girl."

All ten present simultaneously wondered who, or where, the mysterious voice was coming from. As a matter of fact, it came from directly behind them.

"Those who only pick on the weak and defenseless have no right to speak of the way the world works."

The man came into better view. His lush long blond hair, distinctive violet tunic, and straight blue spear made him a most distinguished figure.

"…Erhardt?" Olberic gasped, not believing his eyes.

But it wasn't him.

"Mr. Captain!" Tressa called out.

"You know this man?"

"Yep! He's the Captain…"

"…Leon Bastralle, at your service." He finished.

"What!?"

How could this be. He was _the_ Leon Bastralle? They had only met just briefly before, in the port section of Rippletide. He had been a most kind merchant, going so far as to advise and provision her with sleepweed to infiltrate the Caves. But he looked and acted nothing like the fearsome pirate of legend!

"Aye, in name, though a pirate no longer. Now I'm just the captain of a humble merchant ship. Here's a lesson for you lads, from a true man of the sea… Dead men tell no tales."

They barely noticed it, but the twin bleached bandanas were huddled in a makeshift embrace of one another, cowering in fear of the man in front of them.

"I-I ain't a dead man yet!" Mak cried.

As quickly as they could, both blitzed out of the Cave, caring only for their lives.

* * *

With the plunder returned and the pirates overrun, the hamlet of Rippletide burst into celebration. Vast troves of wealth were reinfused into the economy, bringing prosperity upon most. People once again filled the trade district, and the tavern was more than busy. People sung the praises of Tressa and the mysterious travelers.

Best of all, the deed was done without a single blow. Not a drop of blood, sweat, or tears were spent in overwhelming the pirate crew. And all was to be credited to a young girl who didn't have a weapon of her own. If she were the future, the future was to be bright.

Meanwhile, within said girl's abode, her parents were throwing a lavish feast to show their pride in their daughter. Naturally, they invited the strangers who assisted in hauling back the treasures. At first, the most of them were too modest to accept the offer, but eventually relented once they smelled the freshly cooked meals.

H'aanit wasted no time devouring the roasted boar in the center. She made sure to save good sized portions for Linde, who was being a good girl waiting outside.

Tressa's father joyously hefted another pitcher to fill the guests' mugs. "Another round for our heroes!"

 _Hero_

That word stung in Olberic's skin. He had yet to wear that badge in many years, and to this day, he still felt he did not live up to such a title. But in order to come back to Cobbleston, to be a figure worthy of Phillip's admiration, he must become one.

The door to the house blared open, and moments later, Tressa herself walked into the room. This time, she was clutching something within her hands.

"Welcome back, Tressa dear!" Her mother greeted her. "Please pull up a seat, and tell us how you met these fine individuals, and convinced them to go out of their way for us."

"Aww, shucks, ma'am." Alfyn scratched the back of his head. "We were just doin' a good deed, is all."

Therion said nothing, instead marveling at the massive number of coin pouches he snatched back there. The grateful townsfolk wouldn't mind someone like him skimming off the top, and he still got to act like a hero all the same. Win-win.

"What do you have there, Tressa dear?" Her mother called again.

"You wouldn't believe it, but I walked on Leon Bastralle's ship! And he gave me this cool journal as a reward for today. And this spear too!"

She gleefully presented both items for all to see. The spear and book seemed nothing but ordinary, something that could easily be scavenged on the roads. But one man's trash, was another's treasure.

Tressa happily took a seat next to Ophilia, who warmly greeted the young girl.

"That was incredible what you did back there!" She told her.

"Thank you! I didn't even believe it would work, but it did!" The merchant replied back. "I'm not sure who this book belonged to, but it's full of notes about an amazing journey! He's been all over the continent."

"How wonderful. Has it given you ideas about traveling one day?"

"I'd love to…" Tressa's eyes diverted to the ground, her voice starting to grow quieter while the milieu of the feasting grew louder. "…but I have to work here, in my Ma and Pa's shop. I love my parents and I want to be a great merchant one day too, but I want to see the world, like you guys."

"You should ask them then. I'm sure they would understand."

Her face shot back up. "You think?"

Tressa got up from her seat and walked over to her parents. Many moments later, with a few once-overs from her Father, they nodded at her and the young merchant returned to Ophilia's side.

"They said yes! I can travel with you guys!"

"That's nice… travel with us!?" The Cleric placed a hand over her mouth.

"With you guys and your fancy weapons and all, there should be no threats that can lick us. That's what you said, isn't it?"

A loud thud rung on the dining table. It came from a now-standing Olberic, with Primrose and Cyrus flanking both sides, giving him confused looks.

"Out of the question."

Shivers went up Tressa's spine, her green eyes looking scared and unsure at the large warrior. "B-but I can…"

"This world is a dangerous place, young girl. Though your abilities of the mind are great, they will not save a life on the battlefield. There is no doubt in my mind that if any one of the seven of us were separated from the whole, that we could hold our own in a pinch. I cannot say the same for you."

"B-but-"

"Tell me, young Tressa. Can you even lift a sword? String a bow? Your magic with the Wind is promising, and your potential is potent, but as you are now, it will not suffice alone in the dangers to come in the places you wish to see. We were lucky that those Pirates were asleep, lest we found out their true capacity for depravity."

Her green eyes started watering. She rubbed back the specs in her lids before they cascaded down her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry, Sir Olberic." Tressa stood up from the table, heading toward a door in the corner.

Primrose leaned in toward the Knight, in a hushed tone. "You're being too hard on the girl. She just wants to see the world."

He stayed firm, closing his eyes. "I've already failed to protect one life I dedicated my life for. Should any hair on any of your heads be touched, I would never forgive myself."

"Come now, Ric. If you're not going to take her along, at least play nice with her family. We can use all the discounts that we can get with only six hundred leaves between us."

"That's only because our leaves are wasted on the most frivolous of duties and we have no proper management…"

Tressa was about to turn the knob on the door when she stopped. Her training as a Merchant allowed her to sniff out a deal when there was one to be had, and her ears were trained to hone in on any matter relating to money.

There was blood in the water.

"So…" she turned around, with a very-much changed expression on her face. "I heard you were having trouble with finances."

"What's it to you?" Asked Olberic.

"Do the seven of you have such worldly experience, yet no concept on what the meaning, or value, of a leaf is?"

"We are doing quite fine, and will make due with what we have."

"With only six hundred leaves?" The young Merchant dug into her large bag and pulled out a massive roll of parchment, which she slammed on the table.

"W-what's that?" Asked Alfyn.

"One thousand leaves. This was just from this morning, before we met."

"H-how?"

"If my Ma and Pa taught me anything, it's how to stretch a few leaves. If you bring me along, you'll never be impoverished again. It will be the best business decision you've ever made."

"B-but-" Now it was Olberic who was stammering.

The familiar dancer placed a hand on his arm. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you ready to sleep on the streets of Sunshade when we first met, Ric?"

"That was _after_ we first met, Prim."

"I rest my case."

Nothing he said or did would wipe the smug smirk off the dancer's face.

"Does anyone else have any objections?"

The rest said not a word. They simply sat down silently, taking in the exchange as it happened. H'aanit eventually added to the conversation. "I haven no objections, so long as she learneth to fight with us."

He looked around across the room, and saw Tressa standing there, hands on her hips, and a smug expression on her face. "So..?"

"Very well… You may join us in our quest."

"Yahoo! This is going to be great!"

The room relaxed from its tension considerably. The young Merchant rummaged through her belongings, finding an appropriate bookmark for her new journal.

Her head popped back up, book and quill in hand. "I was going to write about my journey in here, and I'm going to mention all of you, of course! You guys are all so different, I don't know why you travel?"

"Why we travel?" Ophilia asked.

"Yes! What are your journeys for? You all know I'm in it for treasure."

"My travels are for the Sacred Flame, For Light," Ophilia held up the lantern carrying the selfsame flame to the girl's face.

"For my freedom," Therion lazily added, flashing his thieves' bangle briefly.

"For mine Master," H'aanit followed.

"For succor," succeeded by Alfyn.

"For truth," continued Cyrus.

"For revenge," amended Primrose.

All eyes turned to the last one in the room that had yet to speak.

"What about you, Sir Olberic?" Inquired Tressa.

"For… for…" The words seemed heavy, and he struggled to get them out. His thoughts grew so loud that the line between internal and externalized voices were blurred. "…a reason."

"For Reason?"

"I pray that eventually I can give you a proper answer, but on this day, I cannot." Olberic turned to Tressa's parents, who were listening with patient respect. He kneeled before them, presenting his sheathed blade. "Mr. and Mrs. Colzione, I, Olberic Eisenberg, promise to take your young daughter under my wing. I shall care for her as if she were my own."

Both parents looked at each other, and back at him, responding in unison. "Very well, Sir Olberic. We grant you our blessing, and entrust her among this band you lead."

"I thank you… _lead_?" He looked up, startled at the last part.

Olberic stood up and looked back at the rest of the travelers, who had expectant looks on their faces.

"Is there a problem? That was my assumption when I joined." Cyrus said.

"You've gone out of your way to take care of us when in need," added Alfyn.

"You're clearly the most experienced out of all of us, and you've already asserted your authority in all but name." Primrose interjected.

The Knight looked down at his hands, unsure of the feeling of responsibility bearing over him. "I'm not sure if I'm worthy… but I will give it my all."

' _With that settled, I don't think I have a proper name for my story just yet…_ ' Tressa thought to herself, in complete excitement to be following a knight from the legends. ' _But here we are… seven travelers, and one hero._ '

* * *

Golden rays shot across the sea onto Rippletide at the crack of dawn. Though the town was still slumbering from the festivities the night before, the sun had come early this morning. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Departing the Inn, H'aanit reconnected with Linde, who was resting underneath a large tree in the yard. It was a habit she learned from Z'aanta: waking up at dawn would ensure her the primacy of the hunt above all other competitors. Every minute is precious, so she must make hers count.

But there was no wilderness to hunt in this cobbled, brick jungle. Only sleepy men and buried crabs. Still, a brisk walk through the crisp morning air was one of the highlights of her morning, and it would feed her appetite for breakfast later.

She rounded a corner upon Linde picking up an odd noise. The huntress took caution, not sure of what to expect, as to maintain her stealth. She came to the back of the Inn, where the source of the noise could be found.

"Olberic!?"

The Knight, startled by the surprise, fell on his face. He slowly gathered himself and sat upright on the cobblestone.

"Good morning H'aanit. I wasn't expecting you to be up."

"Likewise. I didn't take thee to be an early riser."

"Ah, this is a… new habit."

"Indeed. I did not see you awake yesterday at this hour. What doeth you at this time of day? There are no monsters to fight."

"I was just doing some push-ups."

She cocked her head to the side. "What is a 'push-up?'"

He scratched his head. "It's a form of exercise, meant to keep one in top condition."

"I see…"

"Would you like to join me? They will make you stronger."

"If that is the case, then I shall join thee."

"Glad to hear it. Place your belongings next to mine and I will show you how to do them."

It was a nice idea, that after all these years, he finally regained something he had lost in the fall of Hornburg. An externalized push for physical development. It wasn't everything, but it was a start.

* * *

A/N: And that's that for the infamous Chapter 9! I hope you enjoyed this one, and didn't mind me deviating from the script a bit. With all characters properly introduced, the story can truly take off now.

My next chapter will focus on one of the main characters and add a bit more depth to his/her story. As a warning, it will contain spoilers for chapters 2/3 from here on out, but I assume that if you've made it to this point, you've already gotten there or past it.

Thanks and, as always, happy trails.


	10. Knight

**A/N:** Thank you again for reading thus far, and I greatly appreciate all your feedback, and viewership. Not all of my chapters are going to be out of the park, and that's okay. To quote Big-Sis Prim, "You can't stomp off the stage over one mistake. You have to push on." And that's what I'm going to do. Now, to raise the curtain and, maestro, let the music play!

* * *

"My feet hurt!"

The travelers had spent a few hours marching through the Cobbleston Gap. The steep, uneven elevation of the terrain, the rocky firmness of the paved roads, and the thin air were all endemic of the Highlands Region. Olberic was at home in these lands, and moved quicker than usual through the terrain.

Tressa, however, was not as thrilled. She voiced her complaints as the party ascended up a steep hill. The rocky ground was not good on her heels.

"The Highlands Region is among the most treacherous in Orsterra." Cyrus said. "Not only is the terrain voluminous, but the roads themselves are fraught with danger, especially with the fall of Hornburg."

"It's a good thing that we have a _brave_ knight protecting us then." Primrose purred, gently stroking Octo's mane as the beast toiled beneath her. "It's a dangerous world for a group of pretty girls to travel undefended."

"I get that, but…" Tressa continued. "I wish they could protect us from the rigors of, you know, adventuring."

"The life of adventure, the never-ending quest for fulfillment, cannot be accomplished without sacrifice. We all need to make contributions."

"Well that's easy for _you_ to say, on your high horse… er, mule."

"Maybe you two should switch places for a bit." Suggested Ophilia.

"I like that idea!"

"Splendid." Olberic came to a pause, tightening the reins to bring Octo to a full stop. "I appreciate you looking after the young ones."

The dancer frowned as she slid off the mule. "Now, there's no need to be snide."

Despite her short stature, Tressa had no issues getting on the pack mule by herself. She sprawled herself all over Octo's back in an appreciative embrace.

' _I'm going to stab him one of these days…_ ' Primrose thought to herself.

* * *

The travelers happened upon a clearing just to the side of the road. The perfectly flat elevation, soft grasses, and isolation from general threats made it ideal to set up camp. Alfyn got to work at once to kindle a fire, while H'aanit and Olberic labored to find proper seating.

To everyone's surprise, the Huntress rolled a fairly large boulder off to the side. It complimented the several smaller ones already there, and could seat multiple people. It wasn't pampering, but it would do.

The lot of them were grateful for just a chance to rest their worn heels. Not Olberic, who was by now used to the treatment of the terrain.

Cyrus was curled up on the larger rock, map open, with Tressa eagerly looking over his shoulder. "According to this, we aren't terribly far from Cobbleston. We could seek accommodation there and replenish our supplies."

The merchant's eyes lit up. "We can use all this money I found there as well!"

Olberic grunted and turned away. This gave Primrose an idea, and she gently nudged him with her elbow.

"Say, big guy, we could use this chance for you to show me around town. _A Knight always keeps his word_." She purred huskily.

"Not happening, not yet." He replied curtly, not so much as turning to face her. "Should you go ahead, I will not stop you, but I'm not going."

"Well, there goes my plans for a _romantic_ night for two…"

He didn't dignify that with a response as she walked back to camp. He instead preoccupied himself with looking around the camp, ensuring that everything was as it should be.

He quickly noticed that one thing wasn't.

"Where's Alfyn?" he asked.

The rest of them looked around for the green-vested Apothecary, but he was not to be seen.

"I doen not now." H'aanit spoke. "Nor does Linde, whom seeth everything."

"Maybe he's out getting herbs and got lost?" Inquired Ophilia.

It wasn't that Olberic was afraid that Alfyn wouldn't be handle himself on his own. It was that his presence stayed Therion, who seemed increasingly brooding today. It would be of great importance to rally their entire party.

"Tressa, come with me." He called out.

The merchant perked up, surprised. "M-me?"

"Yes, we are going to find Alfyn. The rest of you can stay here in case he comes back."

Tressa quickly sat up, making sure she carried her makeshift spear given to her by Captain Leon, and ran to meet the Warrior. H'aanit thought it were an odd choice.

"I would have founden him faster," she thought out loud. "Perchance there is another reason for this."

* * *

"Noxroot, and Addlewart, and Essence of Grape, oh my!"

Alfyn was busily filling Zeph's satchel with every herb he found. He never knew that the Highlands Region had such an abundance of flora and fauna, and he made a mental note to return here when his quest was complete. The snow-tipped mountains and rugged terrain hid green gold in those hills.

In his haste to pluck these natural gifts, he eventually realized he separated from the rest of the main group. Gadzooks, he thought, he only went to grab a few plants. How time flies!

' _I should really get back to the group… wherever they are.'_

With the Satchel as full as it can be, the Apothecary set off to find his compatriots. The terrain was rugged and ridged, but he had no doubts to his ability to reunite with them. On the trail downhill, he went.

That is, until he saw a man kneeling in pain.

"Help!"

Alfyn instinctively rushed over to the man, checking to see his condition. Upon closer inspection, the man seemed to be rather young, of about his own age. He had pure blonde hair, tied in a ponytail much like his own, but much more orderly. His deep blue cape was only rivaled by his striking eyes, which emanated divine blessing in spite of his distress.

"What's wrong sir? You seem to be clutching your leg."

The blue-eyed stranger looked up, relieved to see a friendly face. "Fancy meeting you here around these parts. I was just in a scuffle with a group of monsters, and I got roughed up real hard. My leg took some damage in the fight."

"Do you mind releasing it for a sec? I'm an Apothecary and I'm here to help."

"Thank the Gods, then!" The stranger released his leg, which showed several bruises. "You wouldn't happen to have a Healing Grape on you, would you?"

"Is that all? I should have one around here somewhere…" The Apothecary dug into his bag, sifting through all the herbs he accumulated. It amazed him at just how many there were in the bag. If he carried this thing around, he'd be as strong as Olberic in no time! But reality kicked in, and he found the Grape for him. "Here it is."

"Thank you, stranger." The man eagerly accepted the Grape, and upon consumption, rapidly displayed signs of recovery. He rocketed to his feet. "I feel incredible!"

"I'm glad I could help!" Alfyn smiled as he stood up as well. "My name is Alfyn, who are you?"

"My name is Kit, and I thank you again."

"You don't look to be from around these parts, though I would say the same. What brings you out here?"

"That is a simple question. I came here in search of my father. I haven't seen him in many years, and I only have rumors to go on. If I want to continue my quest, I'll need to change my strategy."

Kit started to walk off in a westerly direction. "May our paths cross again, Alfyn."

* * *

"This is incredible, you can see everything from up here!"

Tressa was already lost when she took in the view from the top. Olberic had led her to a high hill in the area, which gave them a perfect view of the pass. To the north, she could see the port of Rippletide and the blue sea. To the southeast, she could see a massive settlement in the hills, which Olberic identified as Stonegard.

"Precisely, which will make the search for Alfyn much simpler. One can see everything within half a day's journey from here."

"This must be one of your favorite spots since you knew it so well."

"I would take a trip out here in my more recent years when I wanted some air."

"It's so cool!... I don't know why you didn't invite Primrose out here."

"I- What are you talking about?"

"I mean, I overhead you two talking about romance, and all the ways she interacts with you, and how you help her like the knights in the fairy tales…"

He took a deep sigh. "The one thing to learn when interacting with that woman, is that when she flirts with you, she wants something _of_ you, _not_ you. In time, you will see what I've seen."

' _But the hero is always supposed to get the girl in the end, at least that's what Ma and Pa told me,_ ' she thought.

Olberic took several paces back, and then turned to face Tressa, spear in his hands. "Come, the reason I brought you here was to train you, as I promised."

Tressa's eyes grew like saucers. "Oh man, this is so cool!" She pulled out her own spear.

"Your first lesson will be proper grip and posture. Do as I do."

And so, she copied her mentor's movements, albeit sloppily. It took several tries, but she eventually got it.

"Sir Olberic, is the spear a cool weapon?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Captain Leon was known for his spearman ship, and they're my favorite weapon, but you never see fearsome warriors wielding spears in battle or in the books. It's all swords, bows, and magic…"

He couldn't help but smile. "It is indeed a cool weapon. I've fought many a battle with spearmen on both sides of the fight."

"…That reminds me. You said that you didn't know why you fight, correct?"

"And what of it?"

"You mentioned that you lost your purpose, yet you've gathered a group of strangers with disparate goals, and are now traveling with and fighting alongside them. You also have goals of your own."

"That is a complicated matter, going back to my days as a Knight…"

"…Then why did you become a Knight in the first place? Was it your parents' decision or…?"

She stopped herself from blathering any further, but it was too late. The Warrior in front of her let out a sigh, looking downwards at the ground.

"…I'm sorry-" She blurted out.

"It's quite alright," he cut her off. "It's a valid question, with an elongated answer."

"I'm all ears, Sir Olberic."

"Becoming a Knight, it's nothing like wearing the merchant's robes or the scholar's cowl. I not only swore to protect someone, it became the very meaning of my existence, the moment I discovered why I was born." Olberic shot his head to the sky, in ponderance of whether he should entertain this question. He looked back at his young ward. "Very well, I will tell you, but only while training."

"It's a deal!"

* * *

 _Rain descended on the grounds of Lubek. Nestled within a deep valley in the Kingdom of Hornburg, the tiny village rested in the heart of the land. It's situation and proximity to the royal court made it among the safest hamlets._

" _Come on, you're going too slow!"_

 _A young boy, not a day over eleven, tried sloshing through the puddles, doing his best to keep pace. His knees were already deep with caked mud and soot. His hands were equally filthy, having only recently fallen into one of said crevices and picked himself up. His speed was well-below average, but he refused to give up._

" _I swear I'm going to catch you one day, Eva!"_

 _The rain grew fiercer, and the townspeople retreated to the warmth of their shelters. But not him. This young lad wouldn't give up, not until he reached the barn at the end of the road. It was the fourth race they engaged in over the course of a week, and he had lost every one so far. But he insisted on a rematch every single time._

" _Haha! About time you showed up!"_

 _The boy panted fervently. He couldn't match her speed._

" _I will beat you, one of these days."_

" _How many times have you said that, thus far?"_

" _It will happen, I swear it, Eva."_

" _Oh, and what's next? You're going to join the Knights of Hornburg and be the big hero?"_

" _You mock me now, but not whence I get there."_

" _The day that happens, I'll become yours, Olberic!"_

" _What's that's supposed to mean?"_

" _Maybe you'll find out, when you're old enough and it finally happens… I mean if!"_

 _The wild child, unbraided brown hair draped over her, rushed again outside of the barn into the damp abyss, not a care in the world. He couldn't help but marvel at how the raindrops on her thick white dress never impeded her quick movements._

 _Olberic and Eva had been neighbors for their childhoods. Both scions of minor nobility, they lived in modest manors, where their every need was met. But while Eva's family was prosperous, Olberic's had fallen on hard times. His father had grown gravely ill, and the family estate grew short on funds. They had only their title of nobility to fall back upon, but it grew increasingly worthless as time went on. This mattered not to the lad, who viewed himself as one of the people anyhow._

 _As per custom in the Kingdom of Hornburg, all male descendants of nobility were bound to serve in the King's army. The Eisenbergs were exempted due to tenuous circumstances and inability to provision themselves, but it risked them losing their noble title. None of this made much sense to Olberic, who was too young to understand._

…

" _Olberic!"_

" _Eva?"_

 _As time passed, so too did the appearances of the two change. Olberic, now of the age of majority, was a mighty and tall young man. He towered above most others, and the brilliant vest gave him the moniker "The Blue Wall."_

 _But he was not the only one to change. Eva too had grown into an exemplary young woman. Her brown hair extended even further down, draping over her cyan gown. Gone were the tomboyish antics of her childhood, and present were her courtly mannerisms. They had not seen each other in many years, but her sky-blue eyes remained a warm constant, and her embrace a comforting reminder._

" _So, you've finally done it, Brand be damned."_

" _I told you I'd become a Knight of King Alfred. The ceremony was just as grand as it is spun by the bards."_

" _I would wager. If only your parents could have been around to see you…"_

" _My heart knows they would be doubtlessly proud, as would you… I missed you deeply, Eva."_

" _And I, you, Ric."_

" _I met a great man in the barracks, that I'd like you to meet. He's been nothing but a great friend, and only in this quick jaunt have I been able to separate myself from him…" His voice trailed off, his eyes growing more distant. "I-I fulfilled my promise to you…"_

" _Oh," sadness panged from the brunette debutante's voice, her expression growing downcast. "I-I don't know what to say…"_

 _Olberic put his firm hands on her shoulders. "What do you mean?"_

 _There was no response. He pressed further._

" _I know it's been many years, but I've returned for you, Eva. My loyalty may be to King Alfred, but my essence shall be yours. Please allow me to-"_

" _We can't, Olberic."_

" _Why not?"_

" _Everhold."_

" _What!? You aren't speaking sense."_

" _Everhold. He came to our abode two fortnights ago, and spoke with my father. We are to be wed next spring."_

 _He instantly backed away from his childhood friend. Lord Everhold was a duke of great influence. His domain was considerable, and was a trusted advisor of the King. He had been in service to Alfred longer than Olberic had been alive, and there was no way he could compete with a man of his resources, his resume, his repute._

" _All those months sweating in the barracks, those years toiling in the mud, the slash marks upon my body… I bore them all to one day be worth of you. I've never felt a connection with another human being as I have you, nor will I again."_

" _I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Gods only know how my heart skipped when I saw you dismount that horse. But it's best that you forget me now. Do not think for a moment that you failed me…"_

 _Olberic kneeled on one knee, mounting his longsword into the ground, his eyes parallel to it. "If I cannot have your hand, then please accept my blade, my lady. I pledge, until the end of my days, to protect thee from all dangers, external and within. The fires of my fight will only be matched by the passion within my chest."_

 _She cocked her head, shaking her head in sadness, but sighing in defeat. "Very well, Sir Olberic. I humbly accept your pledge."_

…

 _Years passed, and Olberic was taken to many a battlefield. He incurred several scars along the way, but none deterred his resolve. With Sir Erhardt at his side, he recovered from every wound, and never did he lose a single battle._

 _The two were recuperating at their campsite, laughing about the cowardly Birdmen they fought off many months before. Their chorus was interrupted by the trampling of iron horseshoes to the side._

" _Sir Olberic! I have a missive for thee!" The caller called out._

 _The blue knight stood at attention. "What message do you have for me?"_

" _Reinforcements are desperately needed at Everhold Fortress. It's under siege as we speak."_

" _Everhold!? Erhart, we must make haste."_

" _No need to tell me twice!" The blonde brother boasted._

 _The ride to the mountainous fort was filled with twists, turns, and tribulations. Most of this came from the terrain itself, marked by tattered banners of the Kingdom of Hornburg, but the beasts contributed greatly as well. It was nothing that the Twin Blades of Hornburg hadn't confronted before, and they tore through them like a hot knife through butter._

 _Hack and Slash, they went on the besieging army. Some of them recognized the threat, but only when it was too late, for those that didn't flee in time were cut down. The battle had been won, and the only task remaining was to take account of everyone._

 _Erhardt opted to take care of the wounded, his knowledge of triage was far greater than what Olberic had gleamed. The latter entered the citadel to account for the missing. His heart skipped a beat every time he entered a new room, but was pleasantly surprised when he found large numbers of survivors within the halls._

 _His rounds were almost complete, only the uppermost level was left to be investigated. There was still a small number of souls left unaccounted for, and these were the ones he had the greatest interest in._

" _Eva!" he called out. "Where are you?"_

 _Despite housing a scant number of rooms, he felt that his investigation of the top tier took an eternity. Each room, he entered with trepidation, and each time he encountered nothing. No news was better than bad news, he thought, but his heart would not rest until he discovered the truth._

 _Finally, he came to the last room yet to be investigated, the master bedroom. He firmly gripped the metal door handles, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. It took every ounce of strength he had to open them, but he pulled back the wooden doors. He was to embrace reality face first._

 _A dark figure was hunched over in the center of the room. It wore a mask, covered completely from head to toe. The dark cape billowed in the gust erupting from the opening of the door. Beneath it was something even more horrifying._

 _There lay Eva, curled in a ball, drowned in a puddle of her own blood. She was clutching to her chest her newborn child, who was equally silent._

" _Gah!" The Warrior charged in, sword unsheathed, claiming his righteous indignation. His sword failed to connect, and the hitman backflipped away. The figure escaped to the open window, where it was never to be seen again._

 _With his rage eternally unsated, Olberic turned back to Eva, cradling her fallen form in his arms. He scanned the room for Lord Everhold, but he was nowhere to be seen. He knew the man, and he was nowhere near as agile as the mysterious murderer in front of him. It couldn't have been him, but that mattered little now._

 _His love was dead. He cried out to the Gods, "Why would you do this?"_

 _He hugged his childhood friend closer to his chest, rubbing back his own tears. He plied back a spec on her blood-stained dress. It was an obsidian-colored sigil, or at least part of one, that must have been cut off in that exchange. It would clearly pass as something of import when together, but as it was now, it was undiscernible. Next to it lay a tuft of deep crimson hair._

 _He would never be the same again._

* * *

"After... that night, I redoubled my commitments to King Alfred. But my heart died with her. You asked why I became a Knight, and there is your answer."

"I'm sorry I asked, Olberic."

"Don't be, Tressa. I think we agree, the past is over."

"If you don't mind me asking… do you still…"

"…Have the sigil? Yes, I keep it on my person at all times, though it's doubtful I'll ever run into that coward again."

"Who? The killer or Everhold?"

"…Yes."

"...I was going to ask if you regretted it... Becoming a Knight, that is."

No answer.

"I mean, have you killed a man?"

Silence.

Having completed their spear training, Olberic walked over to the cliff's edge, where he gazed down upon the camp.

"I see that Alfyn has returned, and they are preparing dinner." He said.

"Wow, that was fast!" She replied.

"Tressa, do you know why I shared that story with you?"

"I, uh, I dunno."

"When I embraced Eva, her wounds were carved out by spearpoint."

"Th-then that means…"

"The spear is a formidable weapon. Though lacking the raw power of heavier weapons, its speed and precision allow it to make quick, efficient movements. More importantly, it is a weapon or neither evil nor good. It has been used dishonorably like the unknown killer, but also by your friend Leon Bastralle. Remember that weapons are innocent. It is the wielder of the blade, or the spear, that bears the guilt, the intent, the evil. In time, you will develop your own style, and I have no doubt it will suffice."

"Right. Thank you, Sir Olberic."

He examined the spear within his hands, eyeing it intently. "From that day forward, I educated myself in the spear. My size and strength keep the nimble potential of the point out of my reach, but I made great strides nonetheless. I aspire to reclaim that memory, and not let a weapon be associated purely with evil, but also for vindication. Not a day goes by when I wield this spear that I don't think of her, and how I fantasize about being the good and gallant knight of old…"

He smiled at his protégé, and turned back to the view below. He looked over to the side, to an area of higher elevation than the campsite below, and saw something terrifying.

"What's _that_?"

* * *

"I can't resist a homecooked meal!"

"All of our meals have been home-cooked, Alfyn…"

"Aww, don't be a buzzkill, Therion."

"Just making sure we're on the same page."

The reunited six travelers sat alongside the campsite, each preoccupying themselves with various tasks. Cyrus was devouring a book he purchased in Rippletide. Primrose was shaving her nails. Therion played with his bangle, while Ophilia drew lines in the dirt with her staff. They all ended up being hearts.

Alfyn was watching H'aanit hunched over the cooking pot. The aroma naturally drew him toward the bowl.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" He asked.

"Excusen me?" The huntress responded.

"I never knew you could cook."

"When my Master and I goen on the hunt, he doeth not knowe anything about cooking. So, it fallen to me."

"Do you mind if I add to your stew?"

She looked at him with guarded eyes. "What doen you have in mind?"

"Here, let me show ya…"

As the two chefs were discussing culinary contents, Therion grew increasingly restless. He suddenly leaped upward and started walking away.

"Where are you going, Therion?" Ophilia asked.

"Not here, that's for certain." He replied.

"Are you leaving us?"

"Bingo."

Everyone turned to face the thief. Primrose rushed to stand in his way, arms folded.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to get this damned bangle off of me. Unlike most of you, I have a delineated path ahead of me, _mom_."

"What you're doing doesn't make sense. We are stronger together."

Therion stopped in his tracks. The onlookers thought that he had ended his rant.

They were wrong.

"Doesn't make sense? Doesn't make sense! I'll tell you what doesn't make sense. This hodge-podge band of boonies doesn't make sense. None of us have overlapping goals, or destinations. We are all getting in each other's way, and our tasks could be more readily completed on our own. But no, we are stupidly slowing each other down like crabs in a bucket."

He continued. "Look at yourself, Primrose. You spent years plying your trade to get a lead on **one** man, and the moment you get that lead, you put it off to help some mentally deficient huntress, who _stole_ your mule mind you, save her 'master?'"

Cyrus by this time closed his book, standing up to confront the thief. "That's enough, Therion. It's only logical to help others in their time of need, so that they can themselves lend their aid to in yours. Think ahead."

Therion would take no prisoners. "That's rich coming from you, _highbrow_. Don't speak to me about logic when you couldn't even see the ramifications of getting too close with your Princess, of all the people in the world. Let's not forget that the only reason you're here is your own lack of foresight."

Alfyn couldn't take this anymore. "You're crossing the line, Therion. I like you, but I can't approve of what you're saying."

The white-haired man turned to his "buddy" this time. "Oh, Alfyn, _Alfyn_. Then there's you. Of the lot of us, I respect you the least. You have no concrete goals, you have no delineated path, you have no true motivation, other than to be a do-gooder and 'heal the sick.' You were saved as a young child, and dedicated yourself to become an Apothecary in gratitude? Great, but that's already been accomplished. You go with the flow, you don't drop the hammer on anything. Your goals are too easy to fail, and the bar too low to be of any note. Even the kid has a book pointing her in a direction. Have you any idea where your mission takes you? When you can consider it done? For all you know, these people could be taking you in the wrong direction, and you let it happen."

The Apothecary looked away, his face softened. "I… I never knew you really thought of me… that way…"

"Anyways, I'm just going off now. I'm going to get this fool's bangle off of me, and if I don't… well, I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees."

Therion walked away from the camp, taking the trail to the north. The remaining five were speechless.

"…Perhaps it be besten if I leave as well." H'aanit said, breaking the silence.

"Not you too!" Ophilia squeaked.

"He is not without a pointe. Our goals are different… separate. Mine is of urgency, but you all have your own quests to fulfill, and mine detracts from it."

The huntress stood up, gathering her belongings, and motioned to Linde to join her.

"We need to stick together!"

"For _what_ , Ophilia?"

The cleric was startled to hear Alfyn, of all people, say something. His voice was cracked, tears staining his cheeks.

"He-he's right, you know…"

"Alfyn…"

"GreeeeeeeeeeeeeeK!"

The five, plus Therion, froze and looked upwards to the sound of the screech. They saw a horrifying sight at the top of the hill.

"Highland Ratkings?" Cyrus uttered. "What are they doing up here?"

"Those things are huge!" Primrose added.

"There's at least four of them, and they're just as tough as they look. But they usually only live in the southern Highlands. What would they be doing up here?"

"That's anyone's guess, professor."

"I'm not sure we all can take them…"

* * *

"Greeeeeeeeek!"

The Ratkings took sight of the camp, and tumbled down the trail toward them. First on their sights was Therion, who instantly regretted his decision.

The six of them, still sore, arose and took formation.

"This fight is a mismatch…" Therion stated flatly.

"What was it you said before?" Primrose snarked back. "You'd rather die on your feet than live on your knees?"

As she brandished her dagger, Lady Azelhart had done well to mask her insecurity. She wasn't a stranger to violence, and had been trained well by her father, but this was different. It was a different kind of fear from the night her father died, or when she confronted Helgenish. The confidence and swagger that she wore as a necklace had been ripped from her neck. The illusion of confidence melted away in the façade.

In short, she was scared. She closed her eyes as the enemy grew closer.

This wasn't how everything was going to end. Not now. Not before…

 _Pew_

She flashed open her brilliant green eyes, taking in what was in front of her. A blaze of blue bellied before her, mounted atop the monster's head. It removed something from the aforementioned spot, dislodged itself, and landed directly in front of her.

"Sorry I'm late."

She relaxed, leaning on her hip. "Better late than never."

The injured monster, now enraged, growled at its other Ratkings, preparing a counterattack.

"Careful now," she continued. "We'll have to work together to stop them."

Without turning back to speak to her, Olberic said. "Leave this to me."

He cocked his weapon of choice, his long spear, toward the Rats. He waited until they closed the distance, axes at their ready, thirsting for his blood.

This would be their downfall.

He began a rapid thrust volley at the primary Ratking, injuring it into a stun, and knocking it over. Olberic moved over to the next target, emptying an uncountable number of thrusts into it, until it too fell over, deceased. With the grace of a dancer, and the ferocity of a lion, he continued his thrusts into each of the Ratkings, until all were at his feet.

"That… was… amazing!" Tressa squealed, running up to the Knight. "You did all of that, with just a spear?"

The man in blue smiled, wiping the blood off of the tip. "Aye. That was an old technique of mine, called the 'Thousand Spears.' It took me years to master."

"Could I learn it too?"

"One day, Tressa, one day."

He wanted to heap praise on Tressa, but he knew that there was a more pressing matter at hand. He looked at Therion, and his expression said it all.

"You're free to leave if you want to. I'm not your master."

"Tch. No need to tell me twice." Therion sighed. "Here comes the 'but…'"

"…But it would benefit you to stay."

"Convince me."

Having finished cleaning the blood off his spear, Olberic sheathed the weapon. He turned to face the rest of the group, who were looking on with uncertainty.

"What Therion said was not without some merit. Our goals are different, our worldviews are disparate, and our paths are divergent. We share little in common except for the facts that we have such little in common, and we each are traveling across the land on some sort of quest. Despite our appreciation for one another's help, one would think it would be in our best interest to diverge."

None of them said a word. Not one raised a hand in objection. Not even Cyrus.

Primrose beamed across the crowd as he spoke. What were they, truly? A holier-than-thou Sister, an inarticulate huntress, an ivory tower highbrow, a fool, a scoundrel, a child, and herself, a whore. All led by a disgraced knight. They were all flawed, they were all incomplete, and none of them…

"…can finish their quest alone, no matter whether or not they admit it." Olberic continued. "You've seen the monsters before us just moments ago. The migration patterns are unusual, this is true, but it's but a taste of what's to come. Our foes will overwhelm us, if not in strength, in wit, in circumstance, in experience. I should know, for I chase to defeat a man who is my superior in every respect…"

"You're not doing a good job, old man."

"Just so, I may not. But were you confident enough to complete your task on your own, you wouldn't have even entertained our offer back in Boulderfall. The outer rings of Orsterra are filled with dangers that no one of us can overcome individually, but together, we are stronger than the sum of our parts. Each of us can contribute something to our quest, and…" he paused, looking over at Tressa, "…can learn something new from each other. We are eight paths but travel one common road. You do not have to join each other in holy matrimony, but our union will bolster us all."

The next several seconds felt like an eternity. The last words coming from the man in blue echoed through the valley, and not a snark was uttered in rejection. Therion sighed and walked back.

"What's for dinner, Alfyn… and H'aanit?" He asked.

* * *

"Alfyn."

"It's getting late, Therion. What's up?"

The thief stayed silent for several seconds. Though nightfall had come and the others retired to their lodgings, he wanted to ensure that they were alone.

"...I'm sorry."

Alfyn responded with his own muteness. The two simply stood there, on the corner of their setup, for several seconds.

"Don't worry about it. It's not like everything you said was wrong."

"You reminded me of someone I used to know, many years ago."

"Oh really?" Alfyn finally turned to his "best buddy" this time. "Who?"

Therion turned his head to the night sky. He loved gazing at the night sky, but the only constellation he could see was Sagidarius.

"Me."

* * *

 **A/N:** Olberic's design and character are based both on European Knights and Samurai. I've been channeling a lot of Sir Lancelot when I see him, personally.

Also, my side project has been to transcribe all the chapter banters for each character, since there doesn't exist a text-based version of them yet. Yep. All of them. At least I'm halfway done!

Any pairing in this story would be slow to build, but there would be dedicated development when the time is right in the context of this story. I just worry it would heavy hand the story and detract from other elements. My apologies, but I personally view that way as most rewarding in the long run.

But enough of that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next one will feature H'aanit some more. Until then, Happy Trails!


	11. Rolling Stonegard

The familiar grey stone bricks. The rugged, ribbed mountain valley. The smoldering odor of kiln flame in the air. Sprawling buildings on elevations that scrape the sky.

This was Stonegard, just as Olberic remembered it. He had not passed through this town since the Fall of Hornburg, where scores of refugees found shelter from the onslaught. He would not share the knowledge with the others, but it brought him great shame: a gentle reminder that his mission to king and kingdom had failed.

H'aanit, eager as ever to follow her master's trail, strode at his side at the front of the pack. Her nervousness was impossible to ignore. It was quite far from the Woodlands home she grew up in, and her blindness into the area threw her off. But at the same time, the huntress gave the impression that she was expecting something.

"Grrrrrrr"

"A direwolf?!" Cyrus exclaimed, nearly dropping his book in shock.

"Peace," H'aanit said, with a smile. She dashed up the steps into the town, meeting the blue wolf, Linde at her side. "This is Hagen, mine Master's companion."

"I-is he friendly?" Tressa inquired, hiding behind Therion, tugging on his poncho. He was frazzled by the sudden "embrace."

H'aanit chuckled. "But of course. He willen only bite if provoked."

The direwolf took inventory of the other travelers, giving them a guarded snarl. It turned toward Linde, and then relaxed.

Hagen, H'aanit explained, had led her here to Stonegard. It was here where Z'aanta was last to be seen, and the first place where they would look. Unfortunately, Hagen was of little help once they arrived, incapable of tracking its partner's scent. She thanked the great beast and continued her search. Where animals would fail, humans would pick up the torch.

"This place is much different from our forest home," she remarked to Linde. "The sprawling settlement is swarmed with stone and men."

"Rawr!" was the leopard's response.

Cyrus stepped forward. "Mayhap I may intrude, but you hail from the forest, am I correct?"

She turned to the scholar. "Yes I doe."

"Perhaps it would be easier if you think of it like a forest, but for men. Instead of thick trees, stone-block houses drape across the land. Critters and beasts are replaced by men. But despite all their differences, I conclude that there would be a mutual gathering point in both habitats."

"…Are you done?"

"What do you mean?"

"You aren excessively verbose. You are worsen than my Master."

"But I didn't mean to- Oh well." The scholar sunk his head in shame.

Therion stepped forward, taking his place. "If you want information on someone, check the tavern."

"Ah yes, the alehouse. Thank thee, Therion."

Ophilia nudged the thief. "Wow, that was uncharacteristically nice of you, Therion."

He shrugged it off, folding his arms to the side. "I just want this mission to finish as quick as possible."

* * *

Before they could enter the alehouse, Tressa stopped H'aanit, eliciting surprise from the huntress.

"Wait, H'aanit. Before you go in, let me coach you!"

"What doen you mean?" She cocked an eye at the small girl.

"If you go in there like that, the barkeep isn't going to understand you. When you walk up to him, you need to be firm, confident, and normal."

"…What art thou getting at?"

"Just walk up to him and say 'I would like a tall ale, please.'"

H'aanit let out a deep, exacerbated sigh.

"Tressa, do you really thinken I've never been to an alehouse before? Doest you knowe that I dragged my Master away from them on the regular?"

"I was just trying to help."

"Aren you even old enough to enter a tavern?"

"Hey! I am, as of… a week ago!"

The huntress shook her head, walking into the tavern without Linde, who waited patiently with Hagen outside. She approached the barkeep nonchalantly.

"What can I do for ye, lassie?"

She exhaled, taking in another deep breath, before letting out a statement she had made a thousand times before.

"Thy would'st liken a talle loom of dost most fetching ale!" Loudly pounding the table for dramatic effect.

The barkeep scratched his head. "I-what?"

She sighed again. "A bowl of that broth, if thou woulds't. And answeren me a question."

He nodded. "The broth is easy enough. As fer answers, ye'll 'ave to ask the question 'fore I can tell ye if I 'ave any."

"Knowest thou of a hunter name Z'aanta? I believe he sojourned here some moons ago…"

He took a few moments before responding. "Aye, I know 'im. But I ain't seen 'im around for a spell, now. 'Eard 'e'd taken to visitin' a woman named Natalia. She's got a 'ouse on the edge o' town."

The name was unfamiliar to her, but it was a start.

"Thank thee, landlord."

"If ye don't mind me pryin', lassie… ye don't 'appen to be 'is prentice, do ye?"

She nodded "…I am."

"I knew it! Used to talk 'bout ye all the time, 'e did, when 'e was in 'is cups. A prentice who's nothin' like him. Strict an' straight as an arrow! No time for foolishness an' folly, 'e'd say. Soon as ye mentioned 'is name, I reckoned ye was one and the same, what with ye matchin' 'is description an' all."

"…I'll take that as a compliment."

He laughed. "Will ye, now?"

H'aanit took leave of the establishment, having gleamed a trail to follow. The otherwise reserved Hagen leaped at her, startling the rest of her party with his barking. Whatever it was for, it was clear that it wanted her to follow.

Running through the winding streets of Stonegard, she finally caught up to Hagen. The direwolf was caught snarling at an armed man in the middle of town. Behind the man, two more figures came into view. The first was a blonde gentleman dressed in fine robes, finer than even Cyrus's attire. By him was a brown-haired woman of modest means and quite fair skin. Her face indicated anything but comfort.

The armed man was startled by the wolf. "Shoo, ye mangy beast! Go on, bugger off!"

Hagen relaxed his posture, but still kept a vigilant eye on the man.

The well-dressed man, apparently known as "Nathan," was in the middle of conversing. "My dearest Natalia! What a delightful coincidence! Fancy running into each other here."

"…Aye, fancy that I was just, ah, returning from the market." Natalia replied.

She took a step back, but the imposing gentleman took a step forward. "Oh, but what a burden you are shouldering! My dear, you must allow me to deliver it for you… That is, I'll have my man here do it, naturally."

"I'm most honored, sir, but ye needn't."

"M'lady, I insist!" Nathan said, tipping the brim of his hat. "I could not forgive myself if you were to strain a muscle!"

H'aanit was getting fed up with the display in front of them, but she wasn't the only one.

"The sheer nerve of that man!" Primrose uttered.

"Thou canst sayen that again…"

"Consider yourself warned, H'aanit. Stay well clear of self-centered men!"

"I have little experience with menfolk. Aside from my master, of course… But thou hast experience in abundance. Praye tellen me of their ways."

"There are two kinds of men in this world. Those who devote themselves to their trade or calling, and spare little thought for the fairer sex…"

She coughed into the crook of her arm, subliminally signaling toward Cyrus.

"…And those that have no time at all for work, but plenty for pleasure."

This time, the dancer darted her eyes at Therion.

"…If that is my choice, I shall take neither." H'aanit replied.

"Why, H'aanit. It would seem you don't need my counsel after all."

Smiling, H'aanit beckoned for her companion to her side. She knew exactly what to do.

"Go forth, my friend!" she called out.

"Rawr!"

The snow leopard leaped forward, bodying the garbed goon in front of them. He instantly started screaming.

"Ahhh!" was all he could get out before running off.

Nathan took sight of this, and ran after his investment. "Hey! Where are you going!? I paid good money for you!"

With the coast clear, Hagen moved up toward the woman named Natalia, and let out a soft growl. It was anything but threatening.

Natalia, as it turned out, warmly embraced the direwolf. She gently stroked his fur, giving him soft rubs and reassuring pats. "Ye left so sudden, and I've had no tidings of neither of ye since." She said. "Where is your master, Hagen? Where's Z'aanta?"

'Now's my cue.'

H'aanit advanced forward. "Thou must be Natalia. I neede speaken with thee."

"Oh? And who might ye be?"

I am Z'aanta's prentice. I have traveled here from the Darkwood."

"His prentice, ye say? Then ye must be H'aanit. I've heard tell of ye."

"…So Master spake of me."

"Aye. Said ye were a fine young huntress and learnin' fast, no matter his ham-fisted teaching."

"To raisen others whilst belittling himself… That soundeth like Master."

"Haha, aye. He's a good man, but as guileless as a beet."

"Guileless… yes. Fatuous, also, with a weakness for wine and dice. And yet… He is honest and noble, and handleth a bow with the best of them."

"Aye, ye speak the truth there. So where is the old rascal? If Hagen's here, he can't be far."

H'aanit shook her head. "Hagen returnede to our village alone. I have come here in search of Master."

"…What!? Good gods, has something happened to the man!?"

"I was hoping that thou couldst help me answere that."

"I fear I may not be of much help. But I'm happy to tell ye all I know."

Excited as she may be, Natalia couldn't mask that her hands were growing heavier with each passing second. It seemed as if the bags beneath her were about to burst.

"Can we talken at thine home? Leten me carrye some of that."

"…Oh, why, thank ye."

* * *

It was a modest home, but Natalia made more than the expected efforts to provide hospitality to her guests.

All ten of them. Octo was hitched outside.

Hagen staked out a corner for himself, while Linde reclined by the fireplace. The travelers themselves were courteous and took spots around the main room, while H'aanit and Natalia spoke.

She didn't have much to say. She shared the latest information that she had, that Z'aanta had headed to the forest.

That information was fresh three months ago.

Natalia had grown very close to Z'aanta since the passing of her husband, a mutual friend. He'd usually disappear without a trace for days at a time, but he'd always mosey his way back to her. She never paid him much mind because of that. With this recent instance, and the timeframe ever growing, she naturally grew concerned. He wasn't perfect, but his kind nature and gentle demur were endearing.

H'aanit wouldn't admit it openly, but she was right. The Hunter was like a father to her, both figuratively and literally, when she lost her parents. He was among the greatest of companions. Not quite the ideal man, but he was a nurturing soul, and she wouldn't be half the huntress today without him. His excesses humanized him, and his skill as a hunter provided the inspiration needed for her own feats. She dreamed of sharing worthy stories of her own hunts with him. But if he knew, Z'aanta would never let her live it down.

She thanked Natalia kindly, and took leave of her abode. Their next stop would be the northern woods that Z'aanta went off to last. Cold trail or no, she wouldn't be worth her salt if her latest quarry got away.

To her relief, her companions did not volunteer, but demanded that they accompany her. Natalia spared no detail on the dangers of the forest, how the very trees themselves would come alive to swallow men whole, and that Z'aanta would not have entered them had they been easy quarry. It wasn't an easy feeling going on a hunt without her master, but she could at least feel a small amount of security in the company of friends.

Hagen eagerly led the way, which prompted Therion to quip. "Would you follow this dog off a cliff?"

"Mine journey doesn not matter. Only reaching the destination is of import." She replied.

"Grrrrr…."

The direwolf stopped suddenly way ahead of them, snarling in a fighting pose. H'aanit and Linde scurried to him, anticipating what was to come. They reached what appeared to be a bridge, or at least the ruins of one. It had fallen apart, rendering the passageway over the deep divide impassable.

"Rememberest thou this place? Is this where thou lefest him?" She asked.

The dog motioned, indicating that this was, indeed, where the trail left off.

Therion wasn't finished with his commentary. "Wow, from what we just heard, I never took her Master as a jumper."

"Therion!" Ophilia castigated, wagging her staff at him.

"It's an Orewell expression."

Amidst the chatter, H'aanit mulled over words that her Master said to her when she was just a babe. His cautionary wisdom, albeit laden with liquor, never steered her wrong.

 _Listenen, my girl. Hunting isn't just about sticking arrows into a monster's hide. Sometimes the land setteth itself against thee – and Nature herself, fickle, old sow that she is. But always remembren to stoppen, and takest in the air. Lookst around thee. Even if Nature is thy foe, it does not mean thou must fightst her._

"Instead, turnst the lay of the land in thy favor." She said.

The Huntress eagerly ran off, in clear acknowledgment of what she was looking for. The rest of her party slowly followed her in uninformed confusion.

"The creatures of this forest must have founden a way past. Leten us searchen for their trail."

The remaining seven kept a steady pace behind her, wary of any hostile forces that would pop out at them, yet none did. It was both reassuring, and unnerving, that they were alone.

Eventually they found H'aanit, stopped at the base of a hill. Linde was with her, growling at a series of… pine trees?

Before anyone could ask, the snow leopard pounced on them, slashing the trunk of one of them. The trees responded, shuffling about.

Shuffling trees, yes.

But these were no mere trees. They intertwined their bark and branches, morphing into something completely unrecognizable. Long, skinny trunks merged into a singular, stocky vein. Thick branches gathered at the bottom and twisted into arm-like appendages. From the bottom of the "tree" lay eerie roots that resembled the faces of men. Most horrifying of all was the terrorized expression placed on the main, thick truck.

The forest had come alive.

H'aanit had Linde pounce on the strange creature, eliciting slashes on the sides of the trunk. It was every bit as thick as a tree in the Woodlands. But overcoming this obstacle was necessary for them to continue.

The creature attempted to fight back, sending all sorts of branches and howls at the huntress and her companion. But they evaded most of the blows, and toughed out the ones that connected. The two fought as one, and Primrose remarked that it was among the most beautiful performances she had ever seen.

Eventually the foe did fall, collapsing on its "back" behind it. Linde panted furiously, and her partner stroked her back appreciatively.

Cyrus stepped forward, closing his book in fascination. "Astounding work, H'aanit. You were excellent at… splitting wood."

Tressa giggled maniacally. Therion clenched his fist. Primrose facepalmed.

"Professor, that was terrible."

* * *

Nestled in the rear of the mountain crags, the Spectrewood was uncharacteristically dark. The tall trees blocked out virtually all sunlight, which itself was already in scarce supply in the foggy Highlands. The winding trails and assorted noises didn't help roll out the welcome mat. But the air was thicker here, which let the lighter-headed travelers catch their breath.

H'aanit marched forward, unfettered by the curious noises and uncharted terrain. She was at home.

The others, not so much.

"Hooooooo!"

The owl-like noise rung through the tense nerves of the other seven, which spooked them. Therion took inventory of his surroundings, taking a proper stance. Tressa desperately grabbed Ophilia's robes, burying her face within them.

"I'm not scared!" She pouted defiantly.

Not normally one to be spooked, Primrose did grow increasingly guarded, and remained close to Olberic. The man was too relaxed, she reasoned, and wouldn't take a sucker punch well. It was in _his_ best interest for her to buddy up.

Cyrus, on the other hand…

"Hey, Prof…" Alfyn sheepishly asked. "You're tugging on my vest a little too tight."

The professor monologued to himself. "The dark unknown, the uncharted road, the lack of peer review for this desolate corner of Orsterra… none of these are in my books. I'm at a loss for how to proceed, I feel naked…"

Alfyn wanted to get closer with the other travelers. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

Noticing the confusion behind her, H'aanit turned to guide the group. "The last thing we neede is to split up. Stayen together everyone."

The travelers wound their way through the woods, brandishing light, blade, and flame at any forest highwaymen that would befall them. The threats that came for them were of no trouble at all, but it only added to the suspense as they ventured further inwards.

H'aanit stopped at a clearing toward the rear of the forest. She saw something peculiar on the ground, and crouched down.

"…A battle was fought here. But it was not beast versus beast. The destruction lieth only on one side of the field. Here the rocks are marked with… yes. Nicks made by steel weapons. Faded footprints, too. The signs of men."

The others gingerly followed, walking through the clearing and taking in the sights. There were plenty of imprints on the ground, a perfect preservation of what had occurred prior. Cyrus couldn't help but delight in the sight, cataloguing everything within his reach. These boot prints are so precise, the dirt so perfectly displaced, the arrows still remain lodged in the ground.

The scholar picked one up, examining the fine craftsmanship imbued within. "H'aanit, would you come take a look at this?"

The huntress vaulted toward the scholar, eagerly anticipating what was to come. She took the arrow into her own hands.

There was no mistaking it. This was one of her Master's arrows. Which meant he was among those that partook in this battle. The trail was hot once more.

But was it against Redeye?

"Greeeeeeeee!"

All eight of them jolted upright at the sudden noise. H'aanit led the charge forward, rushing into what was to come.

Alfyn took in the sight with abject horror. "I-is that thing a stag?"

Olberic countered. "Nay, tis a monster."

In truth, both were not wrong. The people of Stonegard had mentioned in passing of a "Lord of the Forest." An impressive creature resembling a stag, it's imposing size and ferocity made it a deadly foe for all who entered the Spectrewood. The pale, branch-like tufts of fur that coated it gave it a ghastly expression. Its melancholy eyes fashioned the impression that it stared into one's own soul. On this day, it came for them.

The Lord of the Forest was in a foul temper, and there was no getting around it. H'aanit cocked her bow, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Greeeeeeeee!"

All around them, the trees started to shake. There appeared to be a fierce wind, one that threatened to knock over the surrounding brush. A wind so fierce, that they couldn't feel it.

Something was wrong.

"Those trees…" H'aanit squinted off into the distance. "Preparen thyselves, they aren not mere trees!"

Just as was the case before, the whisked bark tangled and twined into convulsing shapes. Branches twirled in every which and way, crafting new shapes. All had one thing in common: they were gradually growing closer to the Lord of the Forest. Morphing branches soon mutated into smaller, consistent silhouettes, eerily human-like.

"Weeping Treants… not good."

The huntress started firing her bow as quickly as possible. Some arrows were directed at the Forest Lord, some at the Treants, and some in any direction that they could be aimed. She was careful to avoid the others, who were engaged with the forest monsters. Fortunately, she missed Tressa, but unfortunately, Tressa's spear thrusts kept missing, every single time.

H'aanit needed more firepower. The situation would grow desperate, and there was no telling how many more Treants would show. She panicked and prepared to load her bow with as many arrows as would be allowed.

The feeling of the string being pulled back repeatedly wore on her fingers. It was no simple task to string her bow, but one she grew accustomed to. It became a noticeably easier task after she began doing morning "push-ups," although the exertion was far from trivialized. It mattered not to her: effort alone would not carry the battle, and she need more.

And more.

And more.

She lost count of how many arrows were loosed from her quiver, but by the many she let them fly. Quality of the shots mattered not, only the quantity of the arrows released, and the number of enemy foes remaining mattered.

 _More_.

She started letting loose two arrows at a time. Then three. She was surprised to fit four, but four she did load on the bow. Their accuracy was minimized, but their area of effect was greatly expanded.

 _More_.

She soon aimed her bow to the skies above, aiming to hit the widest area possible with her strings. It seemed that the sky itself was raining arrows.

 **More**.

"Everyone, take cover!" Olberic shouted.

The others disengaged from their battles, frantically seeking the shade of the trees not yet moving. The Treants merely stood where they were as the cascade of projectiles hailed upon them.

This, Z'aanta once described, was the Arrowstorm.

H'aanit released her calloused fingers from the drawstring, letting her body rest from the exertion. Only then did she see the wreckage from the battlefield.

Treants everywhere were lying in the dirt, their bark filled with the wooden arrows that felled them. Even the Lord of the Forest was forced to kneel, dozens of arrows in its thick hide.

The battle had been won.

It was a formidable beast, judging by the required hits to take it down. But it was no Redeye. They would have to go deeper within the forest.

* * *

"Master…!?"

H'aanit rushed over to the area where Hagen was seated. The darkness of the forest made seeing into the distance difficult. Even Ophilia's light did little in this part of the woods.

"T-that's a statue!?" Cyrus stated.

"It's a perfect depiction of my Master, as I last sawe him…"

But the Master was frozen… petrified in stone. Evil magic was afoot.

"Heh, talk about getting stoned…" Therion quipped.

Hagen's growling pointed her to an arrow lodged into a nearby tree. Tied on that arrow was what appeared to be a note. The apprentice hastily retrieved it and poured over the contents.

"Well?" Tressa asked, uncertain as ever. "What does it say?"

"It sayseth, that this is indeed Master Z'aanta. He was turned into stone by the beast Redeye, and I must go north to finde a cure."

"You mean 'we,'" Alfyn corrected.

"We?"

She looked around to her companions, who all nodded in agreement. Even Therion, despondent as he was predisposed, gave a concurring nod.

"Grrr."

Hagen meanwhile curled into a ball around the statue of Z'aanta, eyeing it protectively. It was clear the direwolf would remain here to watch over him, which H'aanit accepted in agreement.

"Leten us escape these woods."

* * *

"Your master is an impressive man."

The route back to Stonegard was clear of danger, but H'aanit was laggard behind the rest of the group. Her eyes were downcast, her usual confidence absent, and even her posture was slouched. This caught the attention of Olberic, who hung back to rouse her spirits.

"Your master refused to yield, even as his limbs turned to solid stone. There are few with the wits to know what must be done at such a time, and fewer still with the composure to act upon it. Through his courage, he instilled in you the gift of hope. If that is not greatness, then I know not what is."

She looked up at the smiling figure beside her. It would be a lie to say she expected this.

"…Truth be told, I have ne'er heard such praise bestowed upon him." She replied.

"I look forward to the day that the three of us can sit down and share a drink."

"…Best not. Thou shouldst know that he turneth most tedious when the mead starteth flowing. Endless tall tales of the great beasts he hath hunted, each repeated thrice for good measure."

The warrior cocked an eyebrow, and shifted to face back forward. "…I see. Perhaps just soup and barley tea, then."

' _He remindeth me much of Master._ ' She thought. Though it didn't rouse her mood, it did bring a slight smile to her face.

Natalia's abode finally came into view, and H'aanit entered alone to break the bad news. The others could only wait outside as they spoke.

…

"How did it go?" Tressa asked.

"I have spoken with Natalia and a woman named Eliza, the selfsame one whom summoned my Master so long ago." She replied. "They were horrified at the news, as we were."

As H'aanit explained to the group, the beast known as "Redeye" had been a persistent problem for some time. The monster was known to devour entire armies wholesale, and Z'aanta was the only hunter of renown and skill they could contact to confront such a beast. His only request: to work alone, for if they sent him with an army, he would have surely gone out of his way to shield them at his own expense. Thus, they had little choice.

It was unfortunate that the master hunter didn't know of Redeye's true powers, but his trailblazing provided, as Olberic quipped, hope. Hope for the Knights Ardante. Hope for Natalia. Most importantly, hope for H'aanit, who must continue in her Master's footsteps and, ultimately, accomplish what he could not.

A daunting task, one that was best discussed over ale.

* * *

The night grew long, and the travelers weary from their daytime adventure. Thanks to Tressa's impressive accounting and negotiating skills, the eight were able to get dinner and bedding accommodations, and for a reasonable sum too. In the meantime, six glasses and mugs were clanked. Ophilia abstained from liquor, and the barkeep refused to serve Tressa. Why he let her into the establishment in the first place was another question.

With bellies full and merriment in full swing, Cyrus cleared the table off to the corner. He unfurled his Orsterra Universalis map once more, straightening it out on the long wooden table.

"To where shall be our next destination?" He asked his fellow travelers.

Tressa, angsty as ever from the prior patronization, was the first to thrust her finger on the map, in the lower left corner. "We should head toward Quarrycrest! My book mentioned a visit there, so I just gotta check it out! Don't you also have business there as well, Professor Albright?"

"I do indeed. Odette also lives in Quarrycrest, so a stop there will be on the docket."

Therion huffed. "I don't know what's so special about that town. It's all rocks and no rubies."

Thief and Merchant bickered amongst themselves, which elicited laughter from the rest. Alfyn noticed that Ophilia was quiet from across the table, almost nervous, if he didn't know any better.

"Hey, 'Phili," he nudged. "Pardon my bad memory, but where did 'ya say you were headin' for the Kinding?"

The cleric jumped at the cold call. "According to tradition, I'm supposed to go…" she gently extended her finger along the parchment, not far from Tressa's own. "…here. The Flamebearer kindles the flame in the Saintsbridge Cathedral, followed by…" she moved her finger to the lower right. "…Goldshore. Then finally back to Flamesgrace."

H'aanit, looking on from behind her, marveled at the beauty and majesty Ophilia exhibited.

Primrose, meanwhile, casually sat on the long table, just before the Map itself. "But Goldshore is so close, less than a day's journey. Why not start there, and make your way west?"

"B-but tradition states-"

"Nobody needs to know which order you went in, so long as everything gets done." The dancer replied smugly. "You should embrace your inner naughtiness."

"Th-that's not very proper, Lady Primrose!"

Multiple simultaneous conversations evolved amongst them, while Olberic looked on a few feet back. Though he was in company, he felt increasingly distant as the voices blurred into background noise. He closed his eyes and grew increasingly introspective.

' _To be in the company of comrades one more… It steadies my soul, but…'_

"…Ric."

' _I miss them dearly. King Alfred… Erhardt… Eva… Do I miss them, or just their memories? Why…'_

"…Ric!"

He snapped out of his not-a-nap, eyeing his seven comrades giving him pained looks.

"What is it?" He asked.

"We wanted to know where you thought our next destination should be, Goldshore or Saintsbridge?" Cyrus asked.

Olberic scratched his head. "What of Noblecourt? For Therion?"

The aforementioned thief shrugged, clearly trying to look cool. "Eh, it can wait. Wasn't told there was a time limit or nothin'."

Olberic smiled, stroking his chin. "Sister Ophilia, you just said you need visit both sites, correct?"

The cleric smiled and nodded. "Correct, Sir Olberic. But Goldshore may not be as receptive if we go there first…"

"The worst thing they can do is turn you away. It is our closest option, and we have nothing to lose. Let's visit the port first, then Saintsbridge. From there, Quarrycrest is not far."

Everyone nodded in agreement. The meeting was adjourned.

* * *

Bedtime was indicative on the weakest link of the party. Since that weakest link was Tressa, they were to retire for the evening much earlier than most of them were used to. It would ordinarily be Primrose's primetime to ply her trade, so she was among the more restless. A fitting irony that she was to share a room with her.

Part of Tressa's grand bargain, was negotiations for four two-bed rooms in the inn. Cyrus took the company of Olberic, never steering away from conversations about Hornburgian culture. Tressa was bouncing on her mattress at the thought of rooming with Primrose. This left Therion to bunk with Alfyn, and H'aanit to share with Ophilia. The huntress was somewhat pleased at this arrangement, getting to bond closer with such a modest beauty as her. It softened the blow from the day somewhat.

She left Linde at the door of the inn, for the establishment had a strict rule against animals. The snow leopard growled, curling up next to Octo.

As H'aanit ascended the stairs to retire for the evening, she was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"That was an impressive move you did out there today in the forest."

It was just Alfyn. Not the surprise she expected, but it could have been worse.

"Thank thee, Alfyn. Tis getting late."

No response. She walked closer to the door, not taking note of the expression on the Apothecary's face.

"…I mean, Hey, H'aanit. Hunting ain't an easy life, is it?"

Before she could open the door, the aforementioned huntress paused, turning back to the blonde man. "I am still but a prentice, and not a hunter true."

He cleared his throat. ' _Cmon, you prepared all day for this. Now or nothing!_ '

"Tell me. Is your master a good man? Mine is."

She gave him an incredulous look. He continued.

"Well, he's not my 'master,' per se. Just someone I look up to more than anyone. I haven't met him in years. Still, if I knew he was in danger, even vicious fiends couldn't stop me from rushin' to his aid. …Sorry. I'm just sayin', I think I know how you feel, is all. Anyway, just remember I'm here to fix up any wounds you suffer on the way. So you don't have to hold anythin' back in your quest to save him!"

She continued gazing at him in silence. Was his chest always this heavy?

"Hm? What's the matter?"

"I was merely waiting for my turn to speaken."

' _Great. I'm going to get shut down, just like Cyrus…'_ He clenched his eyes closed, mentally preparing himself to turn around.

But he felt something warm, yet firm. He opened his eyes to see her fist tapping his shoulder.

"…And now that it has come, allow me to thanken thee… from the bottom of mine heart."

She finally shifted to her door and, giving him one last look, turned the knob and went in. But she wasn't the only one of them smirking.

' _It's a start.'_

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you again for reading another chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it.

The next one is in the works, and the chapter after that is another one I'm excited for, so much that I've skipped ahead and written it. So stay tuned, and as always, happy trails.


	12. El Dorado

"Get it together, Berg."

"The bandages, they sting, Alfyn."

Another day, another round of the boy in blue waving his sword dramatically. For every group of foes the travelers happened upon, he would charge headfirst into the fore, over exerting himself to protect them from harm. His movements and judgments were reflective of his experience as a warrior who knew what he was doing.

His body could not keep up with him.

As a side effect of being out of practice for so long, Olberic's muscles quickly grew sore and strained. He first noticed it back when he slew the Ratkings in the Highlands, but he played it off, maintaining the tough persona of a Warrior. But as the battles wore on, the charade became increasingly difficult to maintain, until he finally collapsed on the beach.

Alfyn responded first, checking his vitals. Ophilia volunteered to heal his wounds, but as they were internal muscle spasms and not injuries, there was naught what she could do. If the Warrior continued, those spasms would evolve into injuries, but by that time it would exceed anything the young Cleric could do for him.

"You're lucky I had these balms ready. I had them prepped after our conversation in the Woodlands." He dabbed samplings of the concoctions on Olberic's muscles. They produced an involuntary reaction on the forearms, causing them to dance in every direction. "This last set of bandages should do 'er. You just need to lay off the fighting for a bit."

"Your skill in brewing slaves is most admirable."

"Well, you've got your swordplay to boast of. Me, I've got my medicine. I can only hope that one day I'll know as much about my craft as you do yours. But in the meantime, you can't overdo it. Give yourself time to let your body catch up to your mind."

"But unlike swordsmen, the world can never have too many gifted healers. I dream of a world where I will be obsolete, but until then, I must fi- agh!"

Alfyn sighed, finishing the final dressing on Olberic's left arm.

* * *

Goldshore was everything Ophilia thought it was, and more.

The beaches and brick buildings brought the same visual as Rippletide: a neat coastal settlement flush with trade. The warm salty air brought a reassuring calm to her. The biggest bonus, after all, was there wasn't a single swashbuckler in sight. Every town they had entered thus far hosted some sort of peril, some issue that needed resolving. Perhaps this time would be different. Word from the church in Flamesgrace was that His Excellency in Goldshore was a magnanimous man.

Alfyn loved the town. Having spent his life in the interior Riverlands, he never caught much of the salty waves. He quickly found the air too briny for his liking, but that wouldn't dissuade him. Perhaps he could go for a swim – if Tressa would let him. Time is money, she says, and every moment they spent lollygagging was a missed opportunity for leaves.

He walked around, daydreaming about the things he would do in an atmosphere such as this. A nearby conversation between townsfolk snapped him out of his thought bubble.

"Did you hear? Old Zeke's been stricken too. That's ten in just a week!" One said.

"The fever's spreading fast. Whatever are we to do?" Said another.

"Now that you mention it, I hear there's a traveling apothecary in town." Said the third.

Word travels fast. It was time for him to straighten his messy locks and get to work!

"They say she whipped up a tonic that cured one boy's fever overnight!"

She.

Well, he could always use new colleagues to talk shop with.

"Ow!"

A little girl, not a day older than Nina he reckoned, tripped on her own feet. She quickly picked herself up, nursing the wound. He noticed that the girl dropped something, so he walked over to her, taking a knee to get level with her.

"Are you okay, little girl? Here, you dropped something. A seashell, is it?"

She warily took it. "Th-thanks…"

"Looks like you scraped up your knee. Mind if I have a look?" He examined the wound on her leg, finding a large scrape just below the knee. He quickly pulled out a familiar concoction and applied it around her leg. "Ouch, I bet that smarts. I know the feeling – I'm always tripping over my own two feet. But every time you pick yourself back up, you'll find yourself that much tougher for it."

Alfyn stood up, dusting off his legs. "…That'll do 'er. One of my best healing balms, there."

"Thanks, stranger. I'm Ellen."

"I'm Alfyn. That almost rhymes, eh?"

"Neat. Are you a medicine man?"

"You might say that. I'm what they call an apothecary."

"Wow! I've never met one of your before! Nice to meet you, Mister Pock-a-therry!"

"Alfyn'll do."

"Hey Alfyn? Can I ask you a favor?"

"Go for it."

"It's my sister, Flynn. She caught a fever and she's been in bed all week. She's always crying. And no matter how much she sleeps, it just gets worse and worse…"

"Say no more. I'll fix her up right as rain! After all, that's what I'm here for! You just gotta promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Next time, don't talk to strangers."

"S-so I shouldn't talk to you, mister Pock-a-therry?"

"Yes! I mean no! I mean- I'm a good guy, it's what I'm sayin'…"

The confused girl tilted her head to the side, not sure what he was saying. She called for him to follow her to her abode, which was not far from where they stood. Alfyn craned his neck to take inventory of his colleagues, but they were all gone. Shucks, he couldn't believe he lost them.

' _They're probably looking for the Cathedral now…_ '

"…Thou art good with children."

Alfyn turned around, greeting the magnificent sight behind him. He scratched his head nervously.

"You think so, H'aanit? Can't say I've ever thought about it much. Though I always liked playin' with the young ones back home."

"So thou hast experience. The best teacher. 'Tis a fine gift indeed, to bringen joy to the faces of children."

Even if he couldn't understand half of what she said, he could confirm that the verbiage came through the most beautiful voice his ears ever indulged in.

"Shucks, I don't reckon it's much of a gift. A big smile's all you need. They're infectious, you know."

The huntress clasped her chin within her hand, thinking. "…I wondere."

"It's true! Come on, why don't you give it a go?"

Her eyebrows rose dramatically. She wasn't sure what his angle was, and she checked her surroundings to see if anyone was watching. With the coast clear, she muscled the ends of her lips upward, bringing them into a curve.

"L-like this…?"

"Ahahaha! That's how you do it! I'm feelin' better already!" He threw an arm around her shoulder, chuckling and smiling along with her. "See, if the grown-ups aren't smilin', the kids get worried. They'll figure somethin's up."

"Verily… Thou art a wiser man than it woulde first appearen."

* * *

"Here I am!"

Alfyn walked into the household. No knocking, no inquiry, just a simple break and enter operation. Emma was close behind. He viewed a single figure within the room: a surprised woman, glaring at the intruder.

"Where's my patient? I heard a poor girl was suffering from a terrible fever…"

Emma pointed to the bed. "She's right there, Alfyn!"

He spied the bed, and upon it lay a girl about Emma's age. He cracked his knuckles and smirked. "Aha! Just sit tight. I'll have you feeling better in no time!" He walked over to the bed, examining the condition of the girl.

"Hm? She looks just fine to me."

The mother, Marlene, had enough. "Ellen! What are you thinking, bringing this scruffy-looking stranger into our home!?"

"Pardon, madam, but I'm an apothecary. I only meant to-"

"Oh, are you now?" The mother looked him up and down. She then moved closer, getting straight to his face. "My daughter's already been treated by a _professional_ , so I'm afraid we won't be needing your services. Good day, sir."

Alfyn didn't protest, and walked out in shame.

Tough crowd.

* * *

Alfyn inquired amongst the townsfolk about the whereabouts of the Cathedral. If he couldn't find his friends, they would surely be at their destination, and he would meet them there. H'aanit had long-since taken off by now, and probably reconnoitered with the gang.

"Hm? What's all the hubbub?" He asked as he approached the Manor district of Goldshore. There was a fairly large crowd of well-to-do folk, congregating around a single woman.

The woman in question had raven-colored hair tied in a ponytail, with a pale white dress and a black vest. The vest had two singular lines woven around the hem, just like his own. Curious, he listened in on the conversation.

From what Alfyn gathered, the Aristocrats were lauding praise on the woman, whom he gleamed was a traveling apothecary. She had cured a wide variety of ailments for their loved ones, and all for a modest fee. It was apparent that this was the apothecary that was the talk of the town, and he had to learn more about her.

She took immediate note of his presence, and walked up to him. "Judging by that satchel of yours, I trust I am speaking to a colleague?"

"You bet – though I've only started my journey. I'm Alfyn."

The two exchanged a firm handshake.

"Vanessa. Vanessa Hysel. A pleasure."

"A sworn duty to ease suffering," eh? I like the sound of that. And I couldn't agree more – it's not about the coin we make. So long as I can keep myself fed, the joy of knowing I've eased someone's pain is all the payment I need."

"But of course. It is for that very purpose that I seek to ever hone my skills."

"Haha! Great minds think alike, eh? Hey, would it be too much for me to ask to take a look at your pharmaceutics?"

Vanessa gripped her satchel defensively. "Hm?"

"Just hearing about it, it's clear you're out of my league."

' _In more ways than one…_ ' he thought, marveling as he eyed up and down the velveteen debutante in front of him.

He continued. "The ingredients, the preparation – anything you could teach me, I'm all ears!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't share trade secrets with those in the business…"

' _Play it cool, Alfyn, play it cool…_ ' He thought again.

"Ah, beg pardon. I understand – we do need to put food on the table, after all."

"No need for apologies. You're quite the diligent one, aren't you?"

"Oh, you bet! I'm still new to this, after all. Every day, I'm learning something new. At any rate, I'm glad to know this town is in good hands. See ya around."

"You flatter me, friend. Fare thee well."

* * *

"Alfyn!"

Alfyn turned around as he walked back toward the shore to clear his head. He saw Tressa calling out to him, running impatiently ahead of the others.

"Hey Tress…"

"We were looking all over for you! Where did you go?"

"Oh, I was just taking in the sights, you know. Not a lot of seashore in Clearbrook."

"Apparently the Cathedral is closed, which means Ophilia can't do the Kindling..."

"It's alright, Tressa." Ophilia piped in. "It's currently under repair, so it would be unwise to attempt it now, especially with the lack of His Excellency. I can always come back for it later, when His Excellency is here with excellence."

"That's the spirit!" Alfyn remarked.

"So…" Tressa continued. "It must be a relief that there's another Apothecary in town! It must make the burden a whole lot easier for you."

She wasn't wrong. Back in Clearbrook, even with two Apothecaries in town, there was never a shortage of work. When the locals were all well and good, they would be spared no visit from wanderers of lands unknown. Not to toot their own horn, but they had quite a reputation in the neighboring lands. He wasn't offended that Therion or Primrose hadn't heard of him, that was for sure.

But the greatest compensation from his work as an Apothecary wasn't the prestige, or the overly gracious patients who would show him a good meal. It was the idea of being needed. Of being useful. Of occupying an important niche in the ecosystem of things. He didn't care for the money, not one bit, out of gratitude for his nameless Master. But the smiling faces of those he touched fed a hunger in his gut.

With the work Vanessa was procuring, she had robbed him of what he desired most. It was true that there would forever be more people needing help than Apothecaries ready to dole it out. But this person gave him a different feeling than Zeph. With Zeph, he felt like a useful partner pursuing the same goal. With Vanessa, he couldn't shake the idea that he was being pushed out. He dedicated his two hands to healing the sick. But if there aren't any sick being healed by them, or at least an attempt or chance to, then what good were they?

These were the questions he came to the beach to ponder. These were the existential crises that made him want for personalized space and reprieve. He could appreciate why Therion insisted on working alone so often: he discovered this secret long ago, and was consuming this elixir as mana from heaven. Normally, a situation such as this would prompt Alfyn to simply go to the next town, for there would surely be sick people all over the world that he could save. But what if he met another Apothecary again?

"Hey Alfyn."

"Yes Tressa?"

"I was wondering... How does one become an Apothecary?"

"How? Oh, it's not that difficult at all. You just need to-"

"Help!"

Yep. That's all you really needed to do. Now, to thank that handsome stranger, and…

Oh.

It was Marlene, running about in the town square. The desperation smelled of deep saltwater sweat. That, or she had been running for a while. Whatever the case, she wasn't too thrilled at the moment, and fortunately, it wasn't directed at Alfyn. Her pacing projected her path to lead back to the Manor District.

He was going to make up for his embarrassing entrance last time. It didn't matter what it was that was required, but it shall be done, Dohter help him.

* * *

The situation, as Cyrus stated, was nothing to sneeze at.

Therion groaned.

Once again, a mob of anxious aristocrats cluttered about in the Manor District Square. Once more, Vanessa was in the center of attention. For good measure, the mob repeated their pleas to the vibrant apothecary. For reasons unknown, many within Goldshore had developed a serious case of coughing. They coughed non-stop, and all known home remedies inevitably failed.

The Gaborra whooping cough, Vanessa called it, was the malady at play. It hailed from a far-off region, and it was known to be ruthless. The inhabitants of the Manor District cared not when the disease threw the paupers into the throes, but when it crept up to them, it was call for alarm. All classes cough the same.

Fortunately, Vanessa was benevolent, and came carrying an overnight remedy for the condition, brewed from a special moss in a dangerous location. The ever-grateful aristocrats, ever-grateful for her reasonable prices and sterling success, threw themselves at her. They came prepared with blank checks for her invoice.

Due to the "value" of the ingredients, the phial could be theirs, for the low, low price of a hundred thousand leaves. It was a staggering sum, something only the landed elites such as they could afford, but fork over their wealth they did. They would do anything to protect their dear beloved, and if it came from an apothecary such as her, then it was bound to be truthful.

One of the women from the outer ring stepped forward, weakness in her knees. Alfyn identified her immediately as Marlene. Apparently, her Flynn has come down with the same symptoms. The only problem, was that she didn't possess the wealth that the aristocracy held. But what she did have, her entire savings, the sum total of what her existence on this world was worth, was presented to the Apothecary, for just a single phial, a single sip, anything.

Vanessa approached the distraught mother, expressing her deepest sympathies. But as her remedy was in high demand, and low inventory, she could only spare the drink to the highest priority of victims. "Highest priority" Alfyn snickered, seemed to correlate regularly with the deepest pockets. According to her, the medicine could not be parted with, not for such a paltry sum.

Marlene was begging, lunging at the young woman's leg in a last bid to get her clemency. She missed, colliding face-first with the bricked street. She picked herself up, wiping away her tears, and collected her sack of leaves. She stammered off, crying about the fate of her baby girl.

Something had to be done.

…

Alfyn approached the young mother, crying off in the corner, alone. He came not with malice, nor come-uppery, or even revanchist commentary. He approached her, offering his service once again, free of charge. With no one else to turn to, she reluctantly agreed.

At their abode, Alfyn took careful note of Flynn's coughing. The bedridden rug rat was coughing very hard, to the point where her saliva was flying across the room. If it continued, her coughing would evolve to a point where it was too hard to breathe.

How could a disease from such a distant region reach such a remote location? Tressa told him that Goldshore was a trade port, so interaction with distant lands was a given. But his experience in medicine taught him that constant contact with disease led to inoculation, and no region was better inoculated than the Coastlands. It would also make them an attractive market for medicinal herbs: an area that has no outbreaks will have no need for Apothecaries, nor want for preparation.

He had a hypothesis, but he'd need to acquire a certain item first: Vanessa's medicine. Fortunately, Marlene still had a few drops leftover from earlier, and handed it to him. He took a deep whiff of the phial.

Woo boy, was he going for a trip. His nostrils hadn't taken this much of a trip since that time he and Zeph snorted some evergreen from a traveling merchant.

Evergreen… Gaborra evergreen! That was the scent, but of course!

He made a mental note to not let Cyrus intrude on his thoughts.

But Cyrus did rub off on him in one way, and that was the acquisition of knowledge. He reached into his satchel, pulling out a tome he purchased in Atlasdam. If he wanted to become a great Apothecary, he needed to increase his knowledge however possible, and these leafy pages would help. He scrawled through them until he reached the correct one.

Gaborra evergreen, in bold lettering. It was known for its antipyretic properties, hailing forms the continent of Gaborra. It's been known to also cause issues in the throat, including severe coughing, and so was highly discouraged for consumption.

Everything made sense now. She knew that giving away the medicine for free would establish her reputation and spread the disease. When it finally kicked in, her elixir was at the ready for sale. And with their loved ones on death's door, the unwitting would be lining up to buy it. Worst of all, she knew that he would recognize it right away, which was why she shied away from him.

He always wanted to be kind. He wanted to be carefree, trusting people to do right and to not take advantage. He held people who were within high trust to not abuse it. But this stunk something fierce. He could feel his blood boil. Something had to be done.

Alfyn overheard Vanessa talking about a special moss that she needed to resupply on, as she was distributing her antidote. If that was the case, there was still a chance to collect it for Flynn, or at the very least, get some answers.

"Miss, have you ever seen a moss around here that glows blue?"

"I… don't know." Marlene replied. "But I don't get out of town much. You might try asking around?"

"Gotcha. I'll be back-with just the thing I need to cure Flynn's cough for good!"

"You'd bloody better, Alfyn!" Ellen interjected.

"Heh! You just sit tight and keep Flynn company, okay?"

* * *

"Let's go."

Alfyn almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Therion blindside him from the left. The thief was leaning on a wall, hands in his pockets. He was all business today.

"What'ya mean?" Alfyn replied curiously. "And where are the others?"

"Long story short: The Archbishop is out of town, and the Cathedral suffered an internal foundational collapse. The others are helping a reconstruction effort. I'm here to help you bring that witch what for.

"Collapse!? I hope nobody's hurt."

"They'll be fine. Ophilia said she can tend to their wounds. As for you… There's a cave to the southeast we need to reach. You want to catch that other Apothecary, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. But Therion…"

"What is it?"

The young Apothecary folded his arms, scrutinizing the purple pauper with focused eyes. "Why are you helping me?"

Therion looked in another direction, coolly. "Tch. We're comrades. Do I really need a reason?"

"I know you. You're not one to be philanthropic without an ulterior motive."

Therion sighed heavily, returning eye-contact with Alfyn. "Look, I overheard what that Vanessa twat was saying and doing. To call it thievery is an insult. It's taking good people's trust and meshing it with a pestle."

' _Huh, that's exactly what I was thinking._ '

Therion continued. "I went to the tavern and asked around a bit. Apparently, she was just seen walking off the path to the southwest. There's a cave called the Caves of Azure. Even in the worst-case scenario, we still have a lead on her."

"…You really are my best buddy!"

"Don't mention it…. Ever."

* * *

Alfyn remarked that the Caves of Azure were identical to the Caves of Rhiyo, and highly similar to the Caves of Maiya. Dark, mysterious, wet, with sparse lighting. It couldn't be that all caves in Orsterra were the same, could it?

The Lady of Grace was smiling upon them, for Therion could tap into fire magics. Not enough to burn a forest down, but enough to light a series of torches on the way in. These would be their guides into the vast field of unknowns.

Alfyn couldn't help but chuckle. His first steps into becoming an Apothecary were like exploring this cave. He was inundated with ideas, concepts, and procedures that were as exotic and foggy as this very cave. All those herbs to be memorized, the symptoms to be troubleshooted, and the unreliable narration of various patients made the first few years unbearable difficult. But he eventually went through them.

Therion was also a bit of an unknown. His erratic and inconsistent behavior were always a curiosity. On some days, he was incredibly helpful to the group. On others, he threatened to tear it apart. Alfyn figured that given enough time, he'd understand. From his point of view, Therion just needed a good friend.

Just as Alfyn was about to ask why the caves were called "Azure" when they were anything but, they stumbled upon an illuminated back corner of the cavern. It was vibrant, in the most beautiful shade of blue he'd ever seen. The sunlight peeked through ceiling cracks, shining on green-blue moss on the ground.

Another curiosity was that they weren't alone. Several middle-aged men were hard at work, scaping the fauna and the weeds from the corners of the place. The ever-familiar Vanessa Hysel was centerfold, examining the work being done.

' _This is glowworm moss. Of course!_ ' Alfyn screamed internally.

"Who'd have known this job could be so profitable?" Vanessa cackled to herself. "A handful of glowworm moss for ten leaves, and three fistfuls of homebrew for ten leaves, but do not touch the plums or the grapes!"

"Howdy Vanessa. Fancy meetin' you here."

Having had enough with the charade, Alfyn stepped forward to confront his "colleague," with Therion right behind him.

Vanessa wasn't too impressed. "Hmph. So you sniffed out my supply, huh? You're not as stupid as you look."

"That medicine you gave the townspeople for their fevers was brewed from Gaborra evergreen, wasn't it?"

Silence.

"That was your plan all along. To induce the side effects so you could sell the remedy at a premium."

"Heh… You catch on quick. I travel the land, selling my potions and salves for more leaves than you'll see in a lifetime. What do layfolk know of illnesses and their cures? Nothing – that's what makes this job so easy." She stepped forward, furrowing her brow. "…If it weren't for rival apothecaries like you."

Alfyn took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he processed the information. "What happened to your 'sworn duty to ease suffering?'"

"Here's some advice, _little puppy_. Don't trust anything you can get for free."

"Works for me." Interjected Therion.

Vanessa glared at the purple man, then turned back to the blonde after realizing it wasn't worth the effort. "A stately mansion, lavish dresses, fine wine... Why shouldn't everything I want be mine?"

Alfyn finally opened his eyes, tensing himself. "You're free to have what you want – but I won't let you deceive the weak and vulnerable to get it. Using your knowledge to inflict pain for profit!? You're a disgrace to our profession. Doesn't it make you feel anything to see people suffer?"

"Should it? The ailing, the injured… They're tools to an end. Just like the little kittens I test my tonics on." The madwoman performed a short twirl, extending her arms straight outwards in either direction. "They bring me leaves by the bucket. And when they've outlived their usefulness… they die."

She turned back at him once more, cackling. "Do you cry when you toss away a broken flask? Well then, why should I?"

Alfyn shook his head. "Unfortunately for you, there's no cure for a rotten heart."

"So you don't care for my philosophy. Perhaps you'd care to die instead? Hmmm? My ample wealth has allowed me to secure… good insurance."

She folded her arms, smiling smugly in anticipation for what would come next. Any second now.

The various guardsmen and laborers came forward, makeshift weapons at the ready. They quickly engaged the rare pair over there with reckless abandon. It took several moments of effort, but they were overcome by Therion and Alfyn. All of them ended up on the floor. Therion was crouched over one of the bodies, retrieving a small purse form the pocket.

"You've proven yourself a threat to my business. And you don't seem like the type to go home quietly…" She turned back to Alfyn. "Or the type to keep your mouth shut even if you did."

Alfyn nodded. "You're godsdamned right I won't! On the contrary, I'm gonna brew a remedy and help those people. Not for profit, but because easing people's suffering is what I do."

"What are you going to do? Accuse me of malpractice!? Ahahaha!"

Alfyn unsheathed his axe, primed for battle. Therion joined his side, dagger at the ready.

"Oh, a duet, are we? What are you going to do? Give me a heroic speech, telling me how wrong I am, and save the day in time for supper?"

"What you're doing is wrong, missy." Therion replied.

Vanessa snarled. "Wrong? How dare you accuse me of wrongdoing, thief."

"You're taking advantage of these people. That's not what Apothecaries do."

"But you're so, so mistaken. Do you even know how one becomes an Apothecary in this world? Hmm? Has the little puppy told you?"

"What are you on about?"

She combed her hair with her left hand. "I'll tell you. All one has to do to become an Apothecary… is to simply state your intention. There are no laws on the books for us, nor repercussion for forgery. It's an open society, one without orthodoxy. To accuse me of running afoul of my profession… is simply a perpetually falsifiable statement."

"That doesn't stop it from being wrong!" Alfyn shouted.

"Hmpf. Hate the cry, not the crier. Morality is always subjective. And besides… I'm doing myself no harm with all this wealth! But enough chatter, it's time to die."

She reached into her own satchel, apparently pulling out something from her bag of tricks. Sleepweed, Addlewort: one can name it, and it's present within.

Alfyn, meanwhile, just stood there, confident in his abilities. He waited until she was done.

With a loud cackle, she threw a green substance at the two men. It smelled foul, and would turn the stomachs of lesser men. Therion pinched his nose and buried himself further into his scarf.

"Ahahaha! Fools! You're just going to stand there and take it?"

Vanessa continued laughing for several seconds, losing control of herself. She eventually came to, opening her eyes once more and seeing… both of them, still standing, arms folded.

"Okay, what's going on?"

Alfyn dug into his pocket and pulled out his weapon of choice: a syringe.

"I – I'm confused…" She said, panicked.

"Oh, don't you worry about us. I've immunized the both of us from any nastiness you throw our way." The blonde apothecary said with a smile.

"B-but how did you…? When did you…?"

"Normally, I'm the kind of guy who lets people speak their mind unabated. But you got me really mad, so I'm not entertaining you today. I did it during your whole spiel a second ago."

"B-but that's my only weapon… without my concoctions… I…"

Vanessa collapsed to the ground, completely distraught at her utter defeat. Alfyn walked up to her, digging something out of his satchel himself.

"The game's up, now. I'll be taking this moss… And I've alerted the guards. If you know what's good for you, you'll turn yourself in."

"…All right, you've got me. I repent, I repent…"

Content, Alfyn got up and started collecting his moss. He motioned for Therion to do the same. The furtive companion pointed a finger at the bad Apothecary, in an attempt to alert the good Apothecary of her attempt to flee. He simply shook his head.

"Sussed out your escape route already?" He turned around. "I'm not as naïve as I look."

This time, Alfyn retrieved the selfsame object he searched for in his satchel. He pulled it out, displaying it to the woman in front of him. All the light in her eyes vanished.

"I brought a special treat just for you."

"W–wait, that's-!"

"Heh, I had a feeling you'd recognize it."

"Slumberthorn – the most powerful sleep-inducing substance in the realm. One prick, and the next thing you know, you'll be waking up on a dungeon floor."

 _Prick._

"Maybe one day, you can start over as a real apothecary – if they ever let you out."

 _Plop._

* * *

On their way back to town, Therion, now holding a bag full of moss, posited a question to his fellow.

"…What do you intend to do about that woman?" He asked.

Alfyn turned to him. "Vanessa? I recon I'll let her stew in gaol and ponder all she's done."

"Gaol or no, she doesn't strike me as the type to turn introspective…"

"Maybe, maybe not. But I figure she's tossing and turning somethin' fierce right about now."

"…What do you mean?"

"See, slumberthorn has other effects, less well known. It can prick a person's conscience, for example. If there's somethin' in your heart you'd rather avoid, it'll come out in your sleep instead… as a nightmare. That's right. How she'll deal with that when she wakes up is up to her. But I warrant she _is_ having second thoughts about what she did."

That plan was… _devious_. Perhaps the fool did know more than he let on. It was hard to tell from his patient, care free, kind demeanor, but he's got pluck and spunk. Therion had to make a mental note to not make him mad, ever.

"Well I hope so."

"Why? For my sake?"

"…Just be careful. All right?"

"Aw, are you worried about me?"

"Just shut it."

* * *

It started with the surf. It ended with the surf.

Alfyn rushed back to the town, moss in tow, and made a bee line directly for his first patient: Flynn. With a little know-how, he got the girl back to fighting fit in no time. Marlene and Ellen showered him with unending praise, and a deep apology. He smiled, waving it off as a simple misunderstanding.

He then went off into the rest of town, sharing his antidote with the masses, for free. The townsfolk were overwhelmingly appreciative of his gesture, and once again, he refused any and all payment for his labor. What's more, he shared the recipe with the town scribe, so should the pestilence ever happen again, they would be prepared.

It never occurred to him that there were fellow Apothecaries out there like Vanessa. Someone who would undertake all this knowledge, don the tools of the trade, and foster trust in the people… all to extort them. He understood the necessity of maintaining a standard of living, but this was beyond that threshold.

Gadzooks. He had to be prepared for the next time he runs into an Apothecary. Master… he called out, what would you have me do?

He mulled his thoughts on the golden shores of Goldshore. There was a tranquil bliss to the scene, with the driftwood washing ashore. The maintenance on the Cathedral was nearly complete, and they would set out soon, but the Kindling cannot be performed without the clergy in full attendance. It was unfortunate, but Saintsbridge was in sight.

"Where out there is someone in need of a fixer-upper?" Alfyn pondered.

"Alfyn!" Twin voices called out.

"Oh, Ellen, Flynn."

"Aww, we were trying to surprise you!" Flynn pouted.

"You're already looking a hundred percent, ain't ya, Flynn?"

"I'm all better now, thanks to you!"

That was a line worthy of a good chuckle. Alfyn was genuinely touched, content that he once more found his niche. He took a better look at the girls, and noticed something on their garb.

"But what's this?" He asked. "Have you two been rolling around in the dirt all day?"

Both nodded. Ellen retrieved something from her pocket and held out her hand to Alfyn.

"These are for you!" She said.

He knelt down, taking a look at what was in store.

"Wowzers! Seashells – and scores of 'em…"

"We found them together. Flynn and me! Thank you for helping us, Alfyn."

The young Apothecary happily accepted the small bag of shells from Ellen. Flynn walked up next to him as well, taking his hand in hers.

"…Take care, okay?" She said.

"Shucks…"

Ellen continued. "We found as many as we could. We know you're poor. Is this going to be enough?"

His smile was glued to his face. "I reckon it'll keep me fed for a while. Ya didn't have to… Y'all take care of your mother now, ya hear?"

Alfyn started to turn around to leave, pressing the bag of shells to his face. His sudden stop prompted Ellen to walk to his side. She wanted to see what was wrong, when she did.

"He's crying! Alfyn's crying! Grown-ups aren't supposed to cry!"

Alfyn took a deep sobbing snort and wiped himself with his arm. "Heh… Even grown-ups need a good cry from time to time." This time, he started walking off again, for real. "Stay healthy for me, will ya?"

"…You too, Alfyn."

 _See, if the grown-ups aren't smilin', the kids get worried. They'll figure somethin's up._

* * *

 **A/N:** Once again, thank you for reading thus far!

The end of Alfyn's chapter was one of the most wholesome moments in the entire game. Shucks.

I thought of the next chapter as a more interesting deviation… but you'll see it when it's ready. I usually try to stay a chapter ahead in case the Crow Men come for me...

In the meantime, happy trails!


	13. Erhardt and Yusufa

**A/N:** I'm a generous guy, so I worked to get this one done too. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Multiple moons passed between the travelers' last excursion and the current evening. With Saintsbridge as their goal, the wide wastes of the desert fought them tooth and nail, every step of the way. The dry wastes, the long stretches of emptiness, and the thirsty, unrelenting monsters proved tedious, but not insurmountable. Differing opinions on the experience accompanied them as the fresh oasis of the Riverlands greeted them.

Ophilia immediately regretted spurning Primrose's recommendation to liberalize her attire. She insisted that the code of the church forbade her from spurning her sacred mantle and gown, no matter the circumstance. The lithe Cleric transformed into a puddle of sweat by the end, but marched through it like a true champion.

Speaking of the dancer, Primrose was the only one who made the entire journey without any visible level of discomfort. It wasn't even on account of riding Octo either: her years as a dancer in this land acclimated her body to the dry heat. Tressa attempted to purchase some of her climatic tolerance.

What was done, was done, and the ten of them crossed the final river into safety, just in time for nightfall. Alfyn raced Tressa for the prime pillow that was Linde's resting belly: a race he ultimately lost. The others shared a laugh, which was impaired by the dryness of their mouths. After their recent ventures, exhaustion was a preferable adversary.

The meals were highly satisfactory, as per usual of H'aanit's cooking. Tressa negotiated a bargain for salted fish back in Goldshore. The aquatic delight was partially responsible for their constant attacks in the Sunlands, and also a fulfilling reward rich in protein. It would seem the night were to end like any other thus far, and as Cyrus would remind them, secure certainty was superior to the inundation of the unknown.

Olberic was surprised to see that Therion volunteered for second watch. The thief usually cherishes his beauty rest, but he had been acting differently since their visit to Goldshore. When Therion tapped him to shift out, Olberic nodded and went to rest himself.

They lacked tents, as the ones they had were stolen in the winding wastes by surfing Lizardmen. H'aanit and Therion wanted to give chase, but their legs couldn't keep up with the monsters in the sands, so they would have to make due through the next town. Fortune smiled upon them when they happened upon a small cave, shielding them from the elements.

Olberic went down to take his resting place for the evening. The travelers were sorted into two rows: females on the left, males on the right. He took the next available spot further within the cave. As he knelt down to rest his blade, he gave a once-over to his slumbering companions, content with their safety.

But Primrose's covers slipped off of her, and she was shivering, but still fast asleep. No matter, he would just bring the makeshift blanket over her shoulders and go to rest himself. He scooched over to gently bring them up, when she shifted suddenly.

Great, he was caught.

…Or not?

The dancer simply shifted her sleeping position, resting on her shoulder, and smiling. Whatever she was dreaming about was quite pleasant.

"Please…" she started. "You are such a good man…"

Olberic's heart never raced this fast in many years. Get it together, Berg. He needed to get back to sleep.

But the curiosity was killing him. Perhaps all these days of constant teasing, feminine charms, and experiences were indicative of something more? He didn't want to toot his own horn, but he considered himself a good man.

Her lips parted once more, continuing to project an image into her dreamscape.

"…Tell me the story again, Simeon…"

* * *

"Olberic!" Olllllllberic!"

The aforementioned warrior rubbed his eyes, emitting a fierce yawn. Alfyn was at his side, doting over him expertly.

"Bout time you woke up. You were sleepin' like a log." He remarked.

"How long was I out?"

"Let's just say you were the last one up."

' _That's strange. Even after Cyrus?_ '

The two rose to their feet and walked out of the cave, into the sunlight. The six others were patiently waiting in a circle around the camp, each preoccupying themselves with an activity. Cyrus was sharing one of his tomes with Ophilia, who studiously took in every word. Therion and Tressa were competing to see who could throw acorns further.

"Did you already have breakfast?" Olberic asked.

H'aanit stood up from her session of combing Linde. "We weren waiting on you. Nowe that you're awake, I can cooke something."

The huntress walked over to Octo, inspecting the assorted baggage for foodstuffs. She inspected several pockets, as if she were looking for something in particular. Over the course of several seconds, the expression on her face grew more frustrated, more pained.

"Is somethin' the matter?" Alfyn finally asked.

"The food." She replied, frantically rechecking the same pockets. "It's gone!"

Therion dropped what he was doing. "This better be some sort of joke!"

"I dost not jest, rogue."

"It most likely happened when those Lizardmen stole our tents…" Cyrus surmised.

"If that's the case, we should get some more." Alfyn rolled up his sleeves. "There's actually an apple orchard not far from here. I'll get a basket ready."

"Then I'll go with you."

Primrose surprised everyone when she emerged from her hiding spot, just out of the line of sight of all. She seemed to be in as much a bitter mood as any. She looked at Ophilia, who was turning redder by the second.

"Ophilia, are you doing well?"

"I, uh…"

Ophilia was not doing well.

"Are you really going to go apple picking… in _that_?"

Primrose cocked her head to the side, placing a finger on her chin.

"What do you mean?"

"Those clothes… they could get caught in the brush!"

Of course.

"Oh, Ophilia. Don't pay any mind to what I'm wearing. I've slid in and out of my fair share of sticky situations before."

This of course did not satisfy Ophilia, who simply clenched the folds of her gown tightly.

Tressa, meanwhile, was bouncing up and down. "I want to go too-"

She could not finish her words, because she collapsed to the ground. Alfyn rushed to her side.

"Tress! Are you okay?"

 _Grumble_

"No fever… that's a relief! She's just malnourished."

"You say that like it's a good thing…" Therion quipped.

"A Healing Grape or two is all I need, which is all I have left, but she's gonna have to take it easy today. I can stay and watch to see if her condition gets worse, just in case, but that means I can't go to that orchard."

"I think Primrose will be fine if you direct her there." Cyrus replied. "After all, she's demonstrated exuberant maternal instinct toward Tressa as of late."

"Good point, are you up for it, Primrose?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Was her reply. "Of course, I'll do it: I'm as motivated by hunger as any of you. But I'll need assistance if I'm feeding a family of eight plus two."

H'aanit took her turn to add to the conversation. "It woulde be wise not to send too many persons on the hunt. The majority shoulden remain with Tressa to stay findable."

"I agree," said Ophilia. "But who should go with her? Perhaps you, H'aanit?"

"M-me?" She blushed.

Therion would have said something, but he was too busy examining Olberic's expression. It feels like the last week has been a brooding marathon for him, and he's always been down in the dumps for who knows what. If anyone needed a vacation in Sunshade, it was him. Therion walked toward him out of curiosity.

"You're really talkative, old man."

Olberic's head snapped up. "Oh, I was just thinking about… battle. Our last battle with those Lizardmen. Good fighters."

"Uh huh. I'd have thought you'd be more concerned with the present situation than the past."

"Am I not?"

"For a team dad, you haven't been exactly taking charge of your 'kid's' well-being, now have you?"

"Well, but… I… I thought the lot of you had said what was needed, and my input would be superfluous…"

Only one other traveler was audience to this exchange, and her lips curled into a smug smirk.

"I want Olberic to come with me." Primrose said.

"M-me!?" he uttered reflexively. "Surely you jape."

"I don't jape," she responded, hauling the large basket over to the warrior. "I need some _big_ , _strong_ hands to carry all these apples for poor Tressa."

He does bear responsibility, if not in whole at least in part, for Tressa's condition. He swore to look after the girl back in Rippletide, and he wouldn't go back on his word. But the way this scenario came about was just…

Ophilia noticed that Olberic was just as bothered now as she was just moments before. "Um, Sir Olberic? Are you sure you're okay? We could probably spare at least one other to come along."

"One other would be go-" The warrior tried to say.

"He's fine, Ophilia." Primrose replied on his behalf. "Mama bear needs some alone time with him anyway."

She turned to the aforementioned man in blue, who's eyes consistently averted from her own. What was with him?

"Come on," Primrose said, practically shoving Olberic along for the ride. "Go faster, _daddy_!"

Alfyn, Therion, and Ophilia's jaws went slack. Cyrus and H'aanit both felt large smiles creep across their face. "That's cute" they both said.

* * *

A vexing woman.

Olberic mused over the verbiage Primrose used towards him. Not just earlier this day, but since the beginning of their journey. As they maneuvered through the fruitless trees, searching for Eden, she made every step in a serious, independent manner. It was a drastic contrast to her public persona, where she gave the aura of needing waiting upon for hand and foot. Be as it was, the amusement of seeing Primrose walking on her own two feet amidst the dewed grasses, to work no less, refreshed his mind.

"Primrose, a question."

"What is it?" She asked, not looking back as she continued to lead him through the unknown.

"Your necklace… it looks flashy. Is it magically enchanted?"

She placed a hand on the aforementioned accessory. "Not magic, no… it's just a valuable item to me."

"Is it not the selfsame gem gifted to you by that bloviating fatass in Sunshade?"

"You mean Helgenish?" _Yuck_. Just saying that man's name made her gag. "This one is different."

As they marched, Primrose did spy a number of apples scattered about. Most of them were damaged, old, or otherwise unsalvageable. Still, they found a few, placed in the basket resting on Olberic's back.

"…it was a memento from my mother." She continued. "When I came to Sunshade, my only possessions were the necklace adorning me now, and my father's dagger. I hid both from _that man's_ sight, taking care to craft my image. When I left, I retrieved it from its resting place."

"A clever strategy."

"Dancing and theatre are all dependent on sleight of hand, you know."

Lady Azelhart had thoughts of her own.

She, on the other hand, needed some space from the rest of the group. Playing entertainer was all well and good, but the constant spotlight grew cumbersome after so many acts. She never imagined a journey would grow so tedious, so long, so exhausting. But she would soldier on: she dedicated her life to her goal, and would overcome any obstacle.

Olberic offered her several advantages. While she had the cunning and drive to unite and retain a group of disparate fighters to work on her behalf, she hadn't the face to uphold the façade. A pure-hearted apothecary, a common thief, a rigid cleric, and an esteemed scholar wouldn't defer to a _dancer_ 's judgment, but a seasoned hero? Like moths to a flame.

Geoffery Azelhart departed the world before he could impart all of his knowledge to his daughter, but she gleamed enough to have a basic understanding of maintaining face. Her father's dealings weren't always pretty, but because he used the proper mediums, their town retained a clean and proper milieu. No matter who pulls the strings, her father would always say, it's imperative to keep the face of any operation pure. That the noble knight seemed to harbor fondness for her was icing on the cake, if not merely amusing.

The process of finding this apple orchard was increasingly tedious. Primrose found it much more fun to daydream. She reminisced about halcyon days with her father, the glittering comedy of her youth, and the blissful ignorance of her past self. Soon these days of misery and suffering would give way to the courtly days of yore. But it didn't stop her heart from aching, as evidenced from her last dream.

* * *

" _Please tell me the story again!"_

 _A girl batted her emerald eyes, eagerly looking up to her companion with glee. It was a long day spent with her father, overwhelming as each day was, and she longed for its end. Within the walls of the stately manor, nothing would threaten her, but she longed for more._

 _The gentleman sitting beside her on the couch, dusting off a weary tome, simply wagged his finger at her. "I've already spoke of two in this utterance, and the hour grows late."_

" _Please, Simeon? I promise it will be the last one!"_

 _The girl applied both hands on Simeon's arm, grasping him firmly as if to prevent his escape. He sighed in defeat._

" _Very well, Primrose. But it must be the final act. I have a busy day tomorrow in the garden."_

 _She gave a big toothy grin. "You're a good man!"_

 _The man, in appearance not a day over sixteen, stood up from the cushion with book in tow. He patted down his lavender coat of all wrinkles reflexively. He shelved the previous tome and scanned the bookshelf for a familiar binding. On normal days he could find it immediately, for it was one of the most re-read bundles of parchment within the house._

" _Ah, here it is!" He retrieved what he was looking for, and returned to his seat. He flipped his long, pale hair braid behind his neck and cracked open the pages. "The Twin Blades of Hornburg."_

 _The young girl readjusted her posture as to better look over his shoulder. The tome had artistic representations of characters alongside the text, which was an opulent feature._

 _Simeon began with lines he mouthed several times before. "Presently there exists the noble kingdom of Hornburg in the southern Highlands. It hosts many dangers, but people of equally valorous heart. The Knights of King Alfred are the greatest in the land, and at the heart of their order lay two particular knights. These men, Olberic Eisenberg and Sir Erhardt, are known as the Twin Blades of Hornburg."_

 _He continued. "Sir Erhardt, the Blazing Blade of Hornburg, is considered the fastest blade in all the realm. His quick wit and offensive prowess have made his movements impossible to track, and many a brigand have fallen victim to his blade. Some say that his sword strikes so fast, that he no longer fights in wooded areas in fear of starting forest fires! He is truly an unstoppable force."_

 _Primrose took a long look on the page, which hosted an artistic representation of the man. He had flowing blonde hair and vibrant red armor. She liked the color, that much she knew. Her dream knight, if she ever had one._

 _The narrator of the tale moved on to the next page. "Sir Olberic Eisenberg, the Unbending Blade of Hornburg, was likewise called the toughest blade in all the lands. To contrast Erhardt's brazen style, Olberic fell back upon a strong frame and steady mind to rebuff any attack. Countless platoons have engaged him to never return. He bears many scars across his body, each from shielding an innocent he pledged to protect. Never had a truer immovable object ever grace his world."_

 _She didn't get as much of a rise out of this one, but Primrose felt something inspiring within her upon hearing this line. She always preferred to maintain an offensive posture in sparring with her father, but there was something admirable about a man who would throw down his life for the sake of others. His body was battered, and his innocence shattered, so that someone like her wouldn't bear those burdens. That was the kind of person she wanted to be._

" _The most famous battle involving the Twin Blades was the raid on the Clynt brigands. So impressive and large they were, that they boasted an army rivaling Hornburg's own in size. They threatened the nearby villages, taking the local village headman's daughter hostage. King Alfred dispatched the two alone to save her in the face of overwhelming odds. But in the end, Sirs Erhardt and Olberic proved victorious. Hundreds lay at their feet, and the daughter reunited with the headman in eternal gratitude."_

 _Her head grew weary, and he comfort of Simeon's shoulder grew too great. She would merely rest her eyes, letting the colorful images dance around in her mind._

…

 _Morning came, and once again she was in the courtyard, practicing the sword with her father once more. She was ever-eager to try out the ideas she formulated from the previous night. Her best slashes inevitably missed their mark._

" _My blade…" Primrose started, attempting to imitate the scene from the previous night. "…Is bending!"_

 _She made an audacious swing at her father, only to get lost in the momentum and trip over herself._

* * *

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt

"Primrose, watch out!"

The dancer narrowly dodged an incision across her abdomen. Unfortunately, she did not avoid a cut on her arm, which only lightly bled.

They reached a clearing within the woods, with large brush growing beneath the trees. Out of the brush came several enormous insects, armed with pincers the size of daggers. The briny wings on their back buzzed something fierce. Their eyes produced hot anger, sizing up their would-be prey.

An insect matching this description was called the "River Wasp." It was a monster known to prey upon humans alongside wildlife, and they roamed in swarms. Their numbers had the duo completely surrounded.

Olberic made a retaliatory move, lunging forward to make a horizontal slash. It connected with one of the Wasps, but two more came to replace it. They caught him on the downswing, slicing him on his left cheek.

Meanwhile, Primrose also made movements toward the Wasps. She couldn't focus to activate her magic, so she resorted to dagger-and-stagger attacks. Her blade moved just as true, but she again was also confronted by numbers. One of the more aggressive Wasps nicked her unblemished arm and forearm with two cuts, which forced her to backpedal in recoil. Another collided directly with her face, bruising her left cheek.

She retreated back to the central position where Olberic took a stance. He stood over the apple basket, which he had long since dismounted for the heat of the battle. Her back aligned with his own, guarding his blind spots, while he did the same for her.

"These Wasps are quite aggressive. I'm starting to see the appeal of quantity over quality." Olberic muttered.

"Don't tell me you're going to give up when the going gets tough" was Primrose's reply. "Man, or monster, all share the same flaw of mortality and die just the same."

He rubbed the edge of his left cheek, where a fresh bruise greeted him. "I haven't grown soft, but the rub is that their numbers far outpace any man. We will need a change of strategy."

Primrose ran her left hand through her hair, letting it flow naturally in the wind. "Whether the audience is a single man or a hundred, a dance is still an entertainment. Big as the audience may be, our stage is equivocally accommodating. Our dance will be exponentially more vibrant as a duet than twin monologues."

"I am not one for dancing."

"Nonsense. The way you swing that sword, the way you maneuver through battle, it's an art form, nothing less. Merely sync your feet with mine, and the rest will explain itself."

Olberic craned his head to look at her. He saw the bloodthirsty, calculating, exotic emerald eyes leer into the insects, still furiously flapping their wings. He smirked and re-entered his fighting stance.

"Now," she continued. "Shall we dance?"

The Wasps, driven by carnal hunger for too long, used the moment to lunge at the pair. They came from all directions, pincers at the ready. Primrose used the moment to duck, while Olberic wound up his sword, letting it spin horizontally in all directions. The action cut down a number of the Flies, and most of them back flapped in wariness.

Olberic tapped into his Warrior's fury, inciting the insects to come at him. The feral insects did just that, lunging face-forward at him. This would be their downfall, as Primrose came up from behind them and stabbed two of them in the head, killing them.

More Wasps came from behind Olberic, eager to land a sneak attack. Primrose made several dark incantations, and magic infused with the Warrior's back. The blows did scarcely any damage to him, causing him to grin. He swung his massive sword to meet the insects and bifurcated them.

The remaining Wasps gathered together in a massive overwhelming swam. In a last-ditch attempt, they charged straight for the pair. But it was too late: Primrose had already finished the incantation for a final spell, and a massive purple circle surrounded the swarm. From the circle, a gush of purple light erupted upwards, enveloping and killing them in a final Night Ode.

' _I've never had this much synergy in a battle,_ ' Olberic thought. ' _Not since… with him._ '

Primrose took a bow, panting as she did. Her re-escalating head felt the smallest object collide with her hair. She extended a hand out to examine what it was.

Rain befell the area.

* * *

They were extraordinarily lucky to find a wooden cabin this far isolated from civilization. It was small, roomy, and smelled of aged cider and rabbit, but it would suffice. Mold would be brushed off from the walls, and the narrow windows sealed shut, but otherwise the lodgings sheltered them from the elements. Primrose collapsed on a nearby chair while Olberic slid onto the floor, witting upright with back against the singular door.

"I did not expect it to rain today." Olberic said, double-checking the locks on the door.

"It was atrocious. I'm totally drenched." Primrose responded, frustrated.

"Look on the bright side, at least the blood washed away from the cuts."

"Aren't _you_ ever the optimist."

The dancer stood up and reached for Olberic's bag, retrieving a drying cloth. She applied the cloth to the areas where she was cut, and laid it to the side. She then reached into a miniscule bag wrapped around her hip. Out of it came a while roll of gauze, which she began wrapping around her cuts.

"I didn't know you learned first-aid."

She snorted as she ripped the first stretch of gauze from the roll, hugging it around her arm. "I had Alfyn show me on the road, while you were off bashing skulls in. Comes in handy for situations like this."

"So, I take it that you'll become an Apothecary when your mission is fulfilled then?"

She smirked. "Oh Olberic, when I'm done, I'll never have to work a day in my life, ever again. You do remember that I'm the heir to house Azelhart, don't you?"

"An influential family, I presume."

"That's quite an understatement. The Azelharts have ruled Noblecourt for generations. Once what is entitled to me is returned, I dare not be want for anything ever again."

"A veritable princess, then…" He had his run in with landed heiresses before, such as the girl he rescued from the Clynt brigands so long ago, who insisted the world revolved around them. But unlike her, Primrose seemed to have a solid head on her shoulders.

' _Was that the reason she was upset back in Boulderfall?'_

"In a manner of speaking." She took a last glance at the bandages along her arms, marveling at her first stab at triage. She was indeed a fast learner, and now was the time to demonstrate how quickly she learned. "Come on, now it's your turn."

"I'll be fine."

"Nonsense. Now, hold still."

Primrose crouched down, resting on her knees while examining Olberic's wounds. She firstly dried them off with the selfsame drying cloth, which caught traces of blood in its fibers. Secondly, she traded the roll of gauze for a minor ball of cotton, which she dabbed on the warrior's neck and face. She was forced to lean over his impressive frame, and her close proximity brought heat to his ears.

He didn't want to look at her, for gazing upon her would be tantamount to defeat. She thrived off his discomfort, and he knew that she'd find ways to blackmail him if anything were to happen. Unfortunately, his impulses were too great for his mind, and he opened his eyes to meet hers, just inches away from his face. When he did, what he saw horrified him.

"P-primrose, your face…" He involuntarily said.

"What about it?" She gave a questioning look right back.

"You have… something… on your face…"

"Spit it out, Ric."

"Here," he reached down for the spare drying cloth and handed it to her. "Use this."

The dancer dropped what she was doing and hesitatingly took the cloth. As she applied it to her face, she looked down and saw a black substance appear on the folds.

"This is… my makeup! Olberic, you bastard!"

"Tis not my fault! It must have been the rain."

Primrose furiously applied the cloth to her face, rubbing any and all of the substance off of it as she could.

He didn't want to tell her what he saw. He didn't want to say that the black substance rolling from her eyelids formulated a shape out of the smudge. He didn't want to tell her that the droplet lines and the curvature of her face had them resemble a raven's beak. To tell her that would consign her to a fate worse than death.

"Ugh!" She cried, going off to her own corner.

* * *

The rain didn't let up. They spent what must have been hours inside that Cabin, with nothing but each other as company. It didn't work as well as expected, as Primrose was still furious at Olberic.

"I can't believe you forgot those apples." She said.

"I was more concerned for your safety," was his reply.

"I can take care of myself, Ric. Those apples, on the other hand, are the singular reason we came out here."

"I will retrieve the basket then." Olberic began to stand up, dusting himself off, and reached for his sword.

"Stop, it's pointless now." She replied. "We'll just have to wait it out."

He stopped his movements. "Very well, that would mean spending…"

"…The night here. You fidget as if this were your first night away from home."

In their attempts to make themselves comfortable, the duo sorted through the belongings that were housed within the cabin. Inside were multiple crates, but the food inside was merely old and stale bread, the scapings that even the rats didn't want. They also discovered dusty, and musty, old blankets, spare changes of clothing, and even a staff.

There was also a singular mattress in the corner. It was fairly large, but there was just one.

"I'm not going to fight you for the bed," Olberic said. "You can rest there, and I will keep watch."

"The door's locked and sturdy, so I wouldn't be too concerned with an ambush. Relax, big guy."

The dancer strutted toward the large bed, making a show of her elegant footsteps. Having sat on the bed, she continued where she left off.

"It's fairly spacious…" she said, smirking at his discomfort.

"Vexing woman…" was his reply. He shot up from his spot and desperately searched the singular room for something, anything, to distract him. Never mind the fact that they had canvassed the room three times. There had to be an unturned stone left for them.

As fate would have it, he noticed something funny when he budged the bookshelf in the corner. He tugged on the ends, and the massive wooden construct slid to the side. A door was behind the bundle of books. If only Cyrus were here, he'd have a field day.

Olberic hesitantly opened the door, which pulled outwards. He was fortunate to have backpedaled as he did, for a large, wooden thing plopped out of it. It was long, uncolored, and it had… hinges?

"Olberic, what is that?"

"I… don't know."

He rushed to the other side, spying a latch on the side. He pulled the latch, thrusting the device open. On the side were plush paddings and a hollowed-out interior. This was…

"…a coffin."

"You're not seriously going to sleep in that, are you?"

Olberic caressed the insides of the wooden frame. "It's very large, and well-padded. It will do as well as any bed."

"Maybe I should close the door on you while you sleep."

"Nay, that won't be necessary." Olberic grabbed the extended door by the edges, and applied firm muscle to it. After several moments of twisting and turning, he managed to dislodge the cover from its hinges, and leave the base permanently exposed. "Much better."

"If you say so." She watched with bewildered eyes as the man before her skulked his way into the super-terranean grave. What were the odds of it being a reasonable fit for such a large man?

Very high, apparently, as there was ample room for him to spare.

Large amounts of time passed, with neither party saying a word to another, as they laid down in their respective beds, faces to the ceiling. Finally, Primrose broke the ice, boredom lacing her voice.

"Olberic, how do you sleep so soundly at night?"

"Soundly? Do my dreams seem ever so pleasant to you?"

"You've seen far more destructive tragedy in your years than I have in mine, yet while my nightmares never leave, you sleep like a baby."

Olberic took a few moments to process how, or if, he would answer that question.

"…To tell you the truth, I don't. I'm haunted by the voices, the cries, the agony of those whom I've failed to protect. For every scar on my body, there is a battle where I escaped but my comrades did not."

"At least I'm not alone. I oft think back upon my days with my father, at first fondly, and then with dread, once the inevitable truth sets in. My only respite was… my time with Yusufa."

"The woman we buried in the desert?"

"…Yes. I still keep her handkerchief on my person, next to my dagger. If only you could have met her. You two would get along more than you think."

Another stretch of silence followed. He figured that this was the signal for them to drift into their respective dreamscapes, but Olberic followed with a question that had burdened him all day long.

"Primrose, I have a question for you."

"Go ahead."

"Why do you vex me so?"

The only point of sound made after the aforementioned utterance was the rolling of sheets, indicating that the occupant of the bed shifted her sleeping position, most probably on her side facing away from him.

"See you in the morning." Olberic said in defeat.

' _Because I believe in you._ ' Primrose thought as she drifted asleep.

* * *

Olberic awoke from his slumber, refreshed and refined. The sunlight provided a natural wake-up call, and he rattled his weary bones from the makeshift bed. He soon found he wasn't alone, as his companion was also doing morning stretches.

"You've really been slacking as of late, Ric. Do I need to hold auditions for another knightly fellow? Perhaps I should beseech Sir Erhardt, I don't settle for second banana."

' _Yes, Eva- I mean Prim._ '

Instead of responding, he simply walked to the nearby window. He drew open the glass panel and stretched an arm out. Satisfaction crossed his face when it returned dry.

The locks came undone, and the door pulled open, welcoming him into the wild green yonder. The dew on the morning grasses was still damp, and the fresh forested air was a scent for stuffy noses. He still couldn't believe that the basket was abandoned, but they had better make up for lost time soon. The others were likely worried for their well-being and return was vital.

Olberic failed to find the basket in question: it was likely picked apart by the local wildlife and monsters. At the very least they found an empty replacement basket of roughly equal size. He plied the large container on his back, beckoning Primrose to follow.

"It wouldn't be the first time I restarted from the ground up." She muttered.

Sensing defeat in their quest for nutrition, both agreed that return to the camp was for the best. It was better to return with nothing and regroup with a new plan than to continue a _fruit_ less search, Olberic said. Primrose simply threatened to slap him for letting Cyrus's puns rub off on him. They followed a dirt trail behind the cabin, which would more than likely connect them with a main road.

"How are your injuries faring?" Olberic asked, keeping eyes on the road.

"They're doing just fine. Just a couple of days and I will be as good as new." She responded.

"…I noticed some words engraved upon your dagger. Mayhap you wouldn't take offensive if I inquired on what they were."

She retrieved her dagger from its sheath, gently examining the silver stiletto in her hands. "This engraving is the crest of House Azelhart. The words are our family motto:"

 _Faith shall be your shield._

"A fine motto."

She looked up to him, displaying genuine shock at the comment. "…You think so?"

"'Tis honest and forthright. Virtues I strive to uphold. If you are in need of a swordsman to defend that motto, you need only ask. We are fellow travelers now, and so I am in your service."

She clasped the dagger to her chest, letting the cool metal tingle her skin. "I'm very grateful for it, too. Having you nearby already gives me courage enough. But when you pledge your sword, why, I believe nothing will stop me."

"I hope that I might also call on your help, should the need arise."

"Of course. Whenever you need me."

She wasn't going to squeal that her childhood fairy tale became a reality, or that the magnanimous legends of her hero were true. No, she was happy. Happy in the change of intonation in Olberic's voice. She could feel the elation in his tones, and from the story he told her, the pledge was a big deal.

"It appears I am a hedge knight no longer, and for that, you have my eternal gratitude. If you would like, I would be willing to pause for a proper knighting ceremony…" the Knight started.

"I assure you that won't be necessary."

"Then what is your command, my Lady Azelhart?"

"My first command…" Primrose braided her hair while she thought. "…is for you to continue as you were, and to leave our conversation yesterday between us."

"As you wish."

* * *

"Look over there!"

Curiosity got the better of Olberic, and he slid down a dirt-covered hill and through a series of brush. Primrose struggled to keep up, only now regretting her attire, as her sandals started to hurt her feet and her dress threatened to get caught. She finally met his movements when he paused, spying large dots of red within the trees.

"This must be the orchard Alfyn spoke of." She said.

"Just so. Let's get to business and head back."

Their work began in earnest, with the basket placed in the center of the orchard, while Dancer and Warrior competed to fill the basket with the red spheres.

' _Do not call her the apple of your eye. Do not call her the apple of your eye.'_

"Apple eye!"

Primrose gave him a weirded-out expression, wondering what he was babbling about.

"Yes, you have an eye for apples, I guess?"

* * *

"Look who's back!?"

Tressa was the first to spy the apple pickers returning to the camp. She ran up to greet them, which startled both of them.

"I'm glad to see you're alive and well, my dear." Primrose replied.

"Yup! I'm all better now, but I'm not sure why you two were out so long."

They returned to the campsite, and none of the other five were keen on acknowledging the merchant's comment.

"Oh, we took a wrong turn and spent the night in a cabin."

"P-primrose! Your unladylike behavior is providing a bad influence!" Ophilia snapped.

Olberic said nothing, opting instead to examine the campfire ember. He spied Therion giving him a knowing look as he let the basket slide off his shoulders, to which he responded: "What are you looking at?"

The thief shrugged, turning the other way.

Olberic turned back to the rest of the travelers, surprised they still stood off to the sidelines. "We returned with a basket full of apples, as promised. I figured the lot of you would be more famished."

Alfyn scratched his head sheepishly. "Yeah, we kinda had something going on not long after you left."

"Do continue."

"After a while, H'aanit got bored and found some game nearby. We got plenty full before nightfall, and were set through the morning. Sorry for starting a pointless quest, you two."

Olberic wasn't even mad. In fact, he smiled. "So long as Tressa is healthy and your bellies are full, there is no such thing."

H'aanit flashed a stake with a rabbit tied onto it. "I haven plenty more if you two wanted some."

"That would be delightful."

Primrose, meanwhile, took a seat next to Ophilia and Cyrus, who happened upon a pair of kittens. "Where did you find those?" She asked.

Cyrus responded. "They found us, rather. They smelled the food from last night and took residence with us."

Tressa, meanwhile, was still bouncing up and down. "Alfyn told me that Saintsbridge isn't far from here!" The ball of yellow energy ran up to the Apothecary. "I'll race you there! Last one is a Davy Bones!"

"Hey! Wait!" Alfyn's cries were in vain, as the merchant already had a considerable head start. Seeing the inevitable, he too rushed after her.

"Oh dear," Ophilia pined, gently placing her kitten on the floor and gathered her own belongings. Cyrus too shut his book and started again along the road.

An apple a day keeps the Apothecary away, indeed.

Just as soon as he made camp, Olberic picked himself off once more. He fastened the familiar basket to his strong back once more, preparing to set out. But it suddenly grew heavier, then lighter?

Therion dashed by him, quick as lighting, with apple in hand. H'aanit and Linde weren't too far behind, with the former hoisting the rabbit stake from before over her shoulder. He reached out in vain to try and steady them, but it was too late, and so he said nothing.

"Some things never change," Primrose remarked, straightening her hair with one hand, while reaching for an apple with the other.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm always worried about taking too many liberties with characterizations, but I find it easier for the overall story to just cast those worries to the wind and continue writing.

I hope you liked reading this chapter as well. There's more to come, but the next one will focus on Saintsbridge. It's going to be a pretty big deal. A cinnamon roll is going to get tortured...

Until next time, happy trails!


	14. I Have a Saintsbridge to Sell You

_Behind every charitable fool, is a sword pointed at 'em to take what's rightfully his. 'Tis life._

…

Saintsbridge. The emerald of the Riverlands, or so Alfyn thought. Nothing beat the tranquility of the hamlet. With its lush green fields, verdant riverfront, and kind people, it was no wonder that the peoples of Orsterra flocked to live here, if they made it here intact. He came here often in search of rare herbs, usually with Zeph. Even if they couldn't find what they came for, the hospitality of the locals was a treasure in itself.

When they arrived to the quaint settlement, the sky blushed an orange hue. The citizenry were prepared to pack it in for the day, so the Kindling would, once again, have to be put on hold. But fortunately, His Excellency the Bishop was present, and greeted Ophilia upon her arrival. She could at least guarantee that this visit would be fruitful. They could take the evening to relax, and in a town no less.

But how were they going to relax? Why, at the tavern, but of course!

Alfyn sat at a table with Therion, Cyrus, and Olberic at his side. Each man clinked mugs with each other to signify the first drink of the evening. Tomorrow was going to be business, but tonight was a festivity. The boys, at least Alfyn, were back in town.

The drinking seemed like a seamless endeavor. Therion and Olberic parsed their drinks, while Alfyn chugged away like a madman. Cyrus too made his mug disappear, a sight that Primrose found shocking when she came to pour them another serving.

"More for you, Professor?" She asked.

"No thank you. I've reached my limit."

The consummation continued deep into the night. The girls, sitting at a nearby table, were mortified by Therion hopping on the table, flashing his thief's bangle. Alfyn imbibed more liquor, while Olberic started giggling. In other words, a resounding success.

"Hohoho!"

"Gods damn it!" Alfyn cried. "He's got a hollow leg!"

"Hohoho!" Olberic giggled. ' _I can't stop giggling. This is bad._ '

Tressa couldn't help but laugh as Alfyn fell flat on his face on the way out of the tavern.

"Hohoho!"

* * *

That's just what he gets for oversleeping.

Alfyn sprung out of bed, still perturbed by his heavy hangover. The natural rays of sunlight pouring through the window served as his wake-up call, which made him feel both well-rested and guilty. He looked over to the juxtaposed bed, but Therion was nowhere to be seen.

They were probably starting the Kindling without him. He knew how punctual Ophilia was. Not good.

Toast in his mouth and green vest worn inside out, he dashed out of the inn and scurried for the massive Cathedral on the edge of town. This time, he knew where he was going: it was right next to the tavern. The design was genius: the people would spend their days within the church, and then take their church keys to the alehouse. If he weren't a native of Clearbrook, he would be one of Saintsbridge, for sure.

"Your life isn't worth saving."

Chilling words forced his immobilization. He turned to the right as he was about to cross a bricked bridge north to discover the source of such awful words.

"W-wait! Have some mercy! Ye can't just leave a man to die!"

Alfyn walked toward the two figures conversing. One was a man dressed entirely in black, with a black hood obscuring all but his face. The black goatee with silver streaks intertwined screamed maliciousness. But he also carried a satchel not dissimilar to Alfyn's own. At his feet, a ragged man with deep crimson hair, covered with a violet cloak and silver pauldrons. The aforementioned man had a scar running vertical over his left eye. His hands were firmly clenched on his feet.

Alfyn asked, nay, demanded that the black-clad man halt in his tracks. If he were an apothecary, how could he leave someone sickly and infirm to suffer in his condition? The path of a apothecary was created to heal the sick, not bring the sick to heel. Cyrus had once told him that knowledge was a gift to be shared, which was the foundational principle of the Kingdom of Atlasdam. What good is an apothecarial compendium if not to be put in practice?

The mystery man spoke with inquiring eyes. "A fellow druggist, is it? Well, listen up – I'm a free man, with the right to choose my patients."

"What's that supposed to…"

 _There is no orthodoxy to the ways of an Apothecary. One merely states their intention… and they have no obligation._

Vanessa had a point. A wrong one, but a point. Thanks to her, he was equally wary of men of his own profession compared to outside of it.

"Some lives aren't worth saving." The man in black said.

The absolute gall of that man! How could he say something so vile, so dark, so sadistic? What right did he have to those words? Alfyn mulled over a million responses to such a deplorable statement, yet not one was vocalized. Shurgging, the nameless stranger walked off toward the inn, bearing no guilt for his words nor actions. All Alfyn could do was stand and watch, immobilized by the disbelief that such a person could say something so… heartless. He nervously and involuntarily laughed at the last remark, cursing himself for doing so.

"Who does that jackass think he is…?"

"Y-yer an apothecary too, ye said?"

The bashful blonde turned back to the bruised bandit. "Sure am! And one who doesn't discriminate. Let me see that wound." He ran over to the injured man. The redhead had massive gashes across his torso, staining his tunic. Whatever the cause was, its brutality was only rivaled by the exchange he shared just moments before. This man was lucky he found help when he did, as his wounds were treatable, or he'd be kicking the bucket the next morning.

"Much obliged…" the man said.

Alfyn surmised that the man had a decent chance of surviving whatever malady had struck him before. But he would need a full night's rest, at the very least. As fate would have it, there was an unoccupied cabin nearby. It wasn't a hospital bed, but it would do. The green-sleeved man pulled his red-headed patient up, leaning his worn form on his own, and helped him inside. He brushed aside some debris and stretched out a cloth mat for him to lay down upon.

The man, whose name was Miguel, thanked him profusely. Alfyn told him to simply rest, while he returned with some vitties to aid the recovery. Miguel suggested liquor, a request that was swiftly denied, at least until he recovered completely. Then, the young Apothecary wouldn't mind so much.

He took an instant liking to Miguel. He was friendly enough, and it was a real shame that he was treated like such a black sheep. It only motivated him further to helping him, and all the other weak and defenseless men that he vowed to heal.

 _Grrrumble_

But before he could medicate anyone else, he first had to treat his own stomach. Oh, and the Kindling! He couldn't miss that!

* * *

 _O great Aelfric, Bringer of the Flame._

 _To you I offer my soul and my blood. With your First Flame, I kindle this fire._

 _May it forever shelter the people of this land._

 _Through the sacrament of the Kindling, grant us your mercy and your blessing._

Centerfold within the Cathedral, Ophilia stepped forward to the shrine of the flame. The ornate instrument, coated in silver, hoisted a small platform here the flame was housed. The flame itself, burning a bright, white light, smoldered like weakened embers. It was a remnant of the previous Kindling, which occurred twenty years before, roughly around the time Ophilia herself was born.

Ophilia raised Aelfric's Lanthorn, presenting the greenish-glowing lantern to the flame itself. She undid the latch which allowed the Sacred Flame to stretch freely. It soon latched onto the smoldering embers, invigorating its life and allowing it to burn in a massive crescendo. The flame raced toward the ceiling, reveling in the exuberance of its newfound life. The Kindling of Saintsbridge was complete.

Cyrus was the first to stop Ophilia, marveling at witnessing the Kindling firsthand with his own eyes. One of his adolescent dreams was to write a treatise on the anthropological traditions of the Kindling, though he was forced to drop that pursuit when he fell short of corroborating evidence. Still, the religious mysticism held a romantic sympathy in his heart.

Just as the seven of them were exiting the pearled gates of the church, they bumped into an increasingly panting Alfyn.

"Alfyn! Where were you?" Ophilia opined.

"Sorry I'm late, I got held up. Made a new friend." He said between breaths. "I'm here for… the Kindling!"

"Sorry Alfyn. I already went ahead and performed it."

"Shucks…"

"But look on the bright side! We got it done, and no ne'er do-well got in our way this time! We might actually visit a town without any distress this time."

"Yeah, you're right… hey, let's go get something to eat, it's my treat!"

* * *

The doors of the tavern were thrust open by a familiar face with disheveled blonde hair. Belly aching, he was ready to fill-er up after a long morning of work. He walked further inward, spying multiple seats for them to get acquainted. Did he want the roasted boar? The vegetable broth? Perhaps the barley brew? Or all three? You only live once.

A small crowd huddled in the center of the tavern. A gorgeous young woman knelt down with a young boy, presumably her son, on the floor. "Hey, what happened here?" Alfyn asked instinctually, walking toward the center of the crowd.

The woman, Daphne, claimed he had just collapsed. She did not know why, how, or for what, but the boy had seen much better days. He was unresponsive, skin grew cold, and needed help. Daphne sent for help a while ago, but had yet to hear a response. She insisted that the boy was dying, and that she was helpless to stop it.

Alfyn reassured her, revealing his own medicinal bona fides. He knelt down to take his own inventory on the lad. There wasn't a case of food poisoning, his first guess, so the barkeep was out as a suspect. But that didn't answer the question at large: what was it? With no known allergies, the answer narrowed down, but not enough for his own abilities. What could it be?

"Where is my patient?"

Out of nowhere, the mysterious Apothecary walked forward from behind the other travelers. He took notice of the young boy lying on the ground, and knelt down beside him.

"Huh, you're that sham from before." Alfyn said.

"You again. As for whether or not I'm a sham, you can judge for yourself."

Alfyn begrudgingly stepped aside so the mystery man could do his work. Even if he looked dubious, he wouldn't dare enter trickery town, not with eight well-armed patrons eyeing him. The man placed his hand on the boy's forehead, checking his vitals, and doing a lot of humming and nodding. It wasn't just for show, either. Alfyn could tell that, whatever this joker was doing, he was confident in his work.

"Seems to be a paroxysm of sorts. Doubtless brought on by something he ate. Sweet peas are known to cause this reaction in some people. Here, this should set things right."

Well, Dohter damn him.

The young boy, Tim was it? He moaned and groaned at the bitter medicine he swallowed. But moan and groan he did, waking up instantly. "Ungh… Wh-where am I?" he asked, turning his head around to figure that out.

All the patrons of the tavern gasped at the sight. Daphne pulled her baby boy to her bosom, crying tears of joy at what she's seen. She had not the words to thank the mystery man.

"It's nothing." The mystery man said. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" He turned back to Alfyn, dusting his knees off. "The name's Ogen, traveling apothecary. And I trust you've learned not to judge a man before you know him."

As Ogen left the tavern, Alfyn came to one conclusion. He's either the real deal, or the greatest sham he'd ever seen. He was leaning toward the former.

* * *

He never remembered Saintsbridge having this many ill people. It made no sense. The clean air, fresh water, overabundance of vegetation, and temperate climate made it one of the healthiest regions in all of Orsterra. Sure, the humidity could grow uncomfortable during the summers, but that was small potatoes compared to the extremes of other corners of the map. Alfyn considered one day, when he became a master Apothecary, to teach the Church of the Flame basic medicine so that they could carry his torch, as Cyrus would say.

Alfyn went door to door, tending to the wounds of many sick patients. He had heard that Ogen was also doing his rounds in this town, but the caseload far outstripped his mobility. It wasn't a matter: he wasn't going to get discouraged, especially when someone with such talent for the craft was so craven to apply it.

How dare he say those things about Miguel. A man he just met himself. Hypocrite.

As he left another house, this one hosting a little girl with a fever, he caught wind of two scholars conversing. Apparently there exist two elderly women, both widows, who are quite close friends. As of late, they were unable to meet and greet with one another, and nobody could discern the reason. Alfyn of course volunteered to bring them succor and set out to find them.

He made his way to the edge of town, discovering one of the elderly women completely bedridden. He checked her vitals. Everything seemed to be working fine, she just had a terrible cough. A simple throat tonic did wonders for her, and she recovered instantaneously.

He sat her down on a chair, whipping up a post-remedial concoction that would hasten her recovery. While he did so, he engaged in simple small talk. She was a natural, and quite interesting to boot. He never knew she was a traveling merchant in her younger years, and swore she saw a flying creature in the northern wilderness.

He contributed some talk of his own, including mention of his newfound friend in Saintsbridge.

"You're friends with Miguel? That rotten, no-good thief…?"

Those words hurt. Not only Ogen, but her too? Why did they hate him so? He was like the red-headed stepchild of the town. She wasn't done, however, and leaned in closer after looking both ways.

"Rumor even has it he killed a man…"

More rumors abound. Break ins into wealthy manors, slaughtering of men, women and children. On the run from the authorities. The only somewhat reasonable one was that he was a drifter. Alfyn was recommended to find a new friend.

It was a lot to take in, so he stepped outside. Maybe his fellow travelers would provide guidance.

"So, we meet again."

He wasn't greeted by Cyrus or Ophilia at the door, but Ogen once more.

"Sorry, no time to chat. I have a patient waiting."

"Heh… Surely you don't mean to save that scoundrel's life."

He knew.

"He claimed to be a humble farmer, but the dagger concealed beneath his cloak told me otherwise. There was far more blood on him than that from his wound. He hadn't sought treatment for his wound… because he's a man on the run."

Maybe Ogen was right, maybe Miguel was an unsavory fellow. Maybe he had sinned in the past…

"'Cause someone's a thief, that means you leave them to die?"

 _Some lives just aren't worth saving._

"Bollocks!" Alfyn cried out. "We're apothecaries, not gods! It ain't our place to judge! We have a duty to help anyone who needs us! Am I wrong?"

"…Show me one of your balms."

"And why should I do that?"

"I'm curious about your skills."

Alfyn hesitated for a moment. He had flashbacks to Goldshore, where he asked Vanessa the selfsame question. She refused, but out of purely materialistic, and insidious, reasons. Despite all the appearances that screamed "villainy" out of Ogen, there wasn't that feeling. He reached into his satchel and took out one of his base tonics. "…Here. Lookin's free."

Ogen too the flask to his face, shaking the liquid slightly "It is unrefined… but adequate. Made with talent and confidence." He returned the flask to Alfyn. "Here me, Alfyn. I can see the passion in your eyes, so I'll not mince words. Let that man die. Before you act, ask yourself what it truly means to save a man's life… Especially the life of a killer."

Alfyn felt pain in those words. If those rumors were indeed true, then he was an accessory to murder. But he thought back on Therion, who was also a thief, a scoundrel, a lowlife. He cheated and stole, but at his heart, he was a good man. There was no way he would betray him. If he got a second chance, so too did Miguel deserve one.

But first, they would need to talk.

* * *

Alfyn found the others lounging about in the main square. Apparently Ophilia had met a group of young children while he was at work. Two of the boys, Emil and Derryl she said, were in a disagreement that was short of fisticuffs. She broke up the fight, but couldn't mend the tensions between them. "Emil" had allegedly lost Derryl's brooch, and was about to be on the wrong end of his fist. Emil insisted it wasn't his intention, and wanted to help find it.

Not the best way to resolve situations, but shucks if he didn't sympathize. If anyone did that to Zeph's satchel, then he'd amputate them to The Far Reaches of Hell.

More than he realized, because that brooch belonged to Derryl's late mother. It was tragic indeed, but that didn't mean that Emil was entirely deserving of what was coming, Ophilia said. She was going to sort the issue out in the morning, since they tucked it in for the day.

In the meantime, he had a date with a certain gingered gentleman in a cabin. He should have packed his plaid. He tipped off the others that he'd join them shortly in the inn, and he'd come back when he was done.

"Heya, Miguel!"

"Alfyn, mate…" he moaned. "Me wound… It stings somethin' terrible."

Alfyn crouched down to take a look, eyeing up and down the man's toned physique. The wound was growing worse, that was for sure. But he also remembered Ogen's words. Letting his eyes wander through the cloak, he found other peculiarities. A multi-pocketed satchel wound around his waist. He found the dagger that Ogen mentioned, sheathed exactly where it was before. There were also two, long, narrow objects obfuscated by his violet cloak, but he couldn't make heads or tails of what they were.

His extended silence unnerved Miguel, who begged to know how he was doing. Alfyn didn't have the heart to tell him about his grim fate. Instead, he fed him white lies, reassuring him that working through the pain was the path to recovery. Stronger medicine would be needed to ease his suffering.

 _Before you act, ask yourself what it truly means to save a man's life… Especially the life of a killer._

"What's the matter, Alfyn? Is it worse than ye thought?"

"I heard folks talking about ya, Miguel. Sayin' you're a thief… and a murderer. Tell me the truth, Miguel. I can't help you unless you do."

"…Ye got me, Alfyn. I'm a rotten thief. But hear me out – I had no choice! I needed the coin!"

"Enough to take a man's life?"

"Forgive me, I beg of ye… I got three brats to feed back home. They'd go starvin' if not for me. It weren't always like this, Alfyn. I used to be a mercenary, and a good one at that. But things happened, and the work don't come like it used to. And so I… I…"

This man was a despicable lowlife. The rotten husk of a discarded apple. The very salt of the earth. The causation of why he existed to travel the world to heal in the first place. And yet…

"Come clean with me, Aflyn. I'm dyin', ain't I? I know my body better'n anyone. Ye've got to help me… U-urgh… I beg o' you!"

"…Starting this moment, you're a new man." Alfyn said back. "I'll help you – on one condition. No more thieving, hear?"

"Why… why, o' course! Ye have my word! B-believe me, I feel worse than anyone 'bout the terrible deeds I've done!"

Alfyn paused to mull over what he was about to do. What would happen if he did heal this man? What would he end up doing?

"Thief or no, I can't leave a man to suffer. That's just not who I am." He knelt down next to the thief. "One of my closest companions is a thief, and he was rough around the edges at first too. But we warmed up over our travels, and I can count on him as much as he can count on me. I'm putting my trust into you as much as you are into me."

"Bless you, Alfyn."

"What are your kids' names?"

"M-my kids? They're uh… their names be Mehn, Dae, and Shus. Love 'em to death. When what's through is through, I'll bring ye home and introduce 'em."

Alfyn worked through the night to heal and mend Miguel. The hours drew late, but he wasn't going to end his work until it was done. He sat up Miguel, sharing stories with him to ease the pain. He was a chipper fellow, not at all unlike Therion. He wanted the two to meet, and have a beer together. Maybe they could find their way back to his village, but was it Stonegard or Duskbarrow?

* * *

Oversleeping again. Must be a habit he's stealing from Olberic.

Shucks.

Alfyn scratched his head, trying to determine the time of day based on the rays of sunlight intruding on the cabin. Everything was just as he remembered, save the presence of Miguel. He must have recovered faster than he thought. Gadzooks! It would be nice to find out where he ran off to, but he wanted to find his friends first. They were probably awake, but checking _inn_ would be the safest start.

And he mentally cursed Cyrus for that atrocious pun.

Another beautiful morning at Saintsbridge. The air had a perfect mixture of pine. Swallows were chirping up a storm. Little Tim was held at knifepoint in the town square.

Tim was held at knifepoint!?

"I said stand back, or I'll slit yer brat's scrawny throat!"

Daphne was begging the man to release her little boy. She was willing to do anything for him.

"Then ye know what to do, don't ye!? Hand over all ye've got!"

"I'll give you anything! Just wait for my husband to return, and-"

"Are ye daft, ye bloody whore!? Ye think I have the luxury o' waitin' here all day!? Now hand it over before-"

That husked accent. That particular vernacular. There could be no other.

Alfyn couldn't believe his eyes when he rushed upon the scene. He locked eyes with the assailant. The soulless eyes of a heartless heathen stared right back at him, taking immediate notice of his presence.

"…Bugger me. Bring every leaf ye own to the Rivira Woods by sundown, else ye'll never see the brat again!"

Daphne felt her legs collapse as the crimson cranium dragged her poor boy across the bridge to the west. Alfyn was filled with mixed emotions, but he had to help those he could first. He rushed to her side.

"Are you all right?"

…

That rotten bastard. Not Ogen.

Miguel.

He trusted him. He had him swear off his thieving days. He had him promise to turn over a new leaf, not to steal one. He invested all his hopes and dreams into this man.

And he soiled them like a pair of trousers.

Alfyn made a promise to Daphne that Tim would return, safe and sound. This was his mistake, and he would fix it up.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the others raced to him just as he was about to make for the woods.

"Alfyn! We've been looking all over for you!" Tressa cried.

"It was my fault!" He cried in response.

"What was your fault?"

"That Miguel… I healed him up, and he… he… he took off to the woods!"

Therion looked at him cautiously. "Who is Miguel? Is he who you were with all last night?"

Alfyn nodded regretfully. "Yep. And now Tim's been kidnapped. Anywho, what have you guys been up to?"

Ophilia twiddled her thumbs as she mulled how to respond. "Well… remember those two boys I told you about before?"

"What of 'em?"

"I conferred some guidance in an attempt to mend their friendship, and had them try to find the brooch together. But then Emil saw a dog carry it into the woods, and ran after him, along with Derryl!"

Perfect timing.

"Those woods to the north, the Murkwood. They've got scores of dangerous monsters! But I've got problems too. This Miguel, he's a thief who claims to be a mercenary. Now he's holding Tim ransom to feed his kids…"

"Did you say mercenary?" Olberic thrust himself forward, stern expression replacing his face. "Mercenary or no, we can't take any chances."

"But Emil and Derryl are alone in those woods. Who knows what could happen to them…" Ophilia lamented. "We were going to recruit you to help search for them, since you know the area best, but…"

"It's fine, Ophilia."

The cleric turned to Primrose, who patted her on the back. "What do you mean, Primrose?"

"There's eight of us, plus Linde. We can divide ourselves into groups here and cover more ground."

"An excellente idea, Lady Primrose." H'aanit added. "I will assist thee, Lady Ophilia. Linde can finden a dog faster than any."

"I'm going with you, Alfyn." Therion said. "If he's a thief, then that's my alley."

"As will I." Cyrus concurred.

Primrose could sense that Olberic was trapped in a moral quandary. It was his duty to protect these kids: it was the abduction of his own that spurred this hero's journey. But there were two, in widely different places, and he couldn't be there for both. To pick one would be to consign the other to certain doom. Who was he to pass judgment on which life was more valuable?

"Go with the boys, Ric."

He looked up and saw the dancer place a hand on his arm. She looked up to him warmly, giving an understanding nod. She added, "I'll watch the girls, but _they_ need their hero."

"As you wish, Prim." He replied.

"Now go and bring me back a fairy tale ending."

He turned to join the three males, eager to go, when his hand caught a yellow something.

"I'm going to hunt the baddie too!" Tressa cried.

"No, you're not." Olberic hoisted her by the collar of her dress and plopped her on the other side of him. "No monster, no matter how vicious, is as dangerous as an experienced mercenary." He knelt down, getting level with her. "Besides, they have twice as many kids to keep track of, and they need all the eyes they can get."

"Ugh, fineeeee."

The teams were set. With no time left to waste, they rushed across the bridge into the Rivira Woods. Only Cyrus caught the eye of a purple-haired woman gazing over the bridge. Her captivating beauty, deep red eyes, and gentle smile were too much, even for him.

"I'll catch up with you later!" The scholar shouted. "I'm going to help her really quick!"

* * *

Zeph always told him about the beauty of the Rivira Woods. The violet petals year-round were the gemstone of the Riverlands. He always said that were he ever to propose to the love of his life, it would be among these trees.

Graceful hoots took a different tone on this day. The owls were no ally to Alfyn as he led his comrades deeper into the woods. Feelings of dread and legs of lead were all of which his thoughts were fed.

"Gods damn it all!" He cried.

Olberic grabbed him by the shoulders from behind. Slowly but steadily, he started massaging the apothecary's shoulders. "Steady now, Alfyn." Olberic responded.

"'Steady now'!? I trusted him, that brazen-faced brute…!" Alfyn was prepared to jump like a cat drenched in water. How dare this meat-head, this disconnected old man lecture him on steadiness!? Did he not know the pain, the anguish? Having the greatest feats and advances in human civilization used to commit the vilest atrocities in human history? He had no right!

"I say again, steady, my friend. Our first priority is the child. Am I not right?"

Alfyn exhaled deeply. "…You are. …Sorry. Sometimes my emotions get the better of me." He should have known better. Anger and adrenaline, though they grant the perception of power, ruin one's self in the long run. The countless amounts of apothecarial knowledge he gleamed over the years attested to this fact. If he wanted to solve the problem, he would have to release himself from the finger-trap.

"You need not be sorry. Not too long ago, I was in a situation not too dissimilar, with a boy who viewed me as a father. In times like this, we must help one another. I have no doubt that one day, it will be my turn to call upon you for wisdom and perspective."

"Fair enough… and thanks."

Alfyn refocused himself. He only knew bits and pieces of Olberic's story, but he was a fool to forget them in the heat of the moment. This man had seen betrayals for too many years, and it was doubtless that he, too, had his run-ins with more than one "Miguel." Maybe if he had been present at his side when he was treating him, he could have guided him on the right decision…

No. Hindsight is always 20/20, but there was no way of knowing that any of the others would have steered him in another direction. The past cannot be repeated, so he must move on. Cooler heads always prevail. But first, they would have to overcome a number of obstacles. The first of which: a fork in the road, leading in three directions.

"We'll find him quicker if we split up." Therion said.

"Very well."

…

He spent several minutes of searching, leaving no log, stone, or leaf unturned.

No trace. The man covered his tracks well.

Not well enough, apparently. As he neared the deepest part of the forest, where the edges of a pond could be spied, he saw tracks.

"You saw them too?"

Out of the neighboring brush came Therion and Olberic.

The trio continued their search, together, into the deepest part of the forest. At the end, a small hill in the center of a clearing. In the middle, two huddled, shadowy figures. The larger one was standing, while the shorter one was horizontal, on the dirt.

 _Just like that night, all those years ago… but this time, we know who they are._

"Miguel!"

"…Alfyn. Fancy meetin' you here." Behind the scoundrel, the pained whaling of tiny Tim echoed through the trees. Alfyn could barely see it through the dimly lit trees, but the kid's eyes look discolored, and his shirt was stained red. "Heh, heh. The brat wouldn't shut up, so I stuck him one to give him somethin' to _really_ cry about."

"You low-down pile of filth! Move aside and let me see the boy's wound!"

Alfyn took a step forward, when Miguel stopped him.

"Not another bleedin' step! As pleased as I'd be to see you fix up me golden goose… Somethin' tells me yer just going t' up and sneak away with him."

Alfyn tensed. "The boy could die!"

"And what of it if he does!? I've got four mouths to feed back at home!"

"…I thought it was _three_."

"Heh, whoops. I should learn to keep me stories straight." The crimson villain started laughing heartily, thumping his chest, draped in the very bandages he was wrapped in by Alfyn the night before. "Ye actually believed I had a bloody _family_? I have a bridge to sell ye! I don't even know where me next meal is comin' from! Hah! Yer so soddin' gullible it almost moves me to tears! But I owe ye one, Alfyn. Thanks to ye, I'm able to get back to 'honest' work!"

The laugh echoed through the forest once again. On either side of him, his companions tensed up, ready to cut him down. Alfyn, meanwhile, exhaled deeply, remembering what occurred in his mind just moments before. "…I give."

"What!?" Therion snapped.

"This is my fault for fixing you. But that's why I'm gonna set things right… by my own hand!"

This was where the Apothecary's second wind kicked in.

"Step aside, Miguel!"

"Sure that's smart, Alfyn? I stretch the truth from time to time, but I wasn't lyin' about being a mercenary. Miguel Twinspears has killed a hundred men if he's killed a dozen. Soldiers, mind you, not mollycoddles totin' a bag full o'weeds."

' _Twinspears… that name sounds familiar…_ ' Olberic thought.

The red-head himself reached behind his back for something. When his hands returned, each were outfitted with long, sharp polearms. He dug his leg in, taking a fighting stance.

"None of yer potions or bandages will patch ye up when I'm done with ye! Gah!"

Alfyn made the first move, charging head-first with his axe.

"Aflyn, no!" Therion cried.

"Yer such a gully…" Miguel merely back-flipped out of the axe's range, leaving the blonde boy wide open. Wasting no time, he sent three thrusts of the spear into his torso. Two of them connected with the body, the third hooked the satchel on his arm. "I'll be taking these potions, ye hear?"

"Th-those are… mine…" Alfyn replied weakly.

"Shove off!" Miguel kicked the lad, sending him rolling down the hill.

The mercenary turned just in time to catch Olberic's blade between his spears. The former parried and trapped the latter's blade between them.

"Disgusting villain!" The warrior spat.

"Oh? Gonna be a hero now? Or are you just a sellsword like me?" Miguel smugly grinned at the large warrior, admiring the scar on his forehead. "That scar on yer head, that's an art only spear-work can deliver!"

Olberic, frustrated at his lack of success, pushed deep into Miguel, springing himself backward, and free, from his grasp. He cocked his blade once more.

"What would you know?"

"Well, let's see." Miguel looked him up and down, getting a better view with more sunlight. "That armor, that blue… it's Hornburgian. Don't see that every day now."

"Look out, Olberic!"

Therion came from behind, leaping over the Warrior's shoulders to deliver an overhead stab at the merc. Miguel simply caught him with his spear in mid-air and flung him over the shoulder like a sling.

"Olberic… _Eisenberg_? Don't tell me the Unbending Blade lives!? Hahaha!"

"And what if he does, cur?" Olberic snapped back.

"Well slather me with honey and call me Davy Bones! He lives, only to die by my hand!" Miguel moved his left hand to his face, tracing the vertical scar over his left eye with his index finger. As he did so, more of the left side of his torso became visible. Olberic could scarcely see the glimmer of something small, likely a military badge or medallion, covering his left bosom. It was ebony in color, and looked nicked, but it was difficult to see anything in these dim woods.

"You…" The Knight started. "Was it you in Everhold all those years ago?"

"Huh?" The merc stopped laughing. "Dunno what you're talkin' about. Can't keep track of everyone I've killed, but civilians? They're all the same to me."

"I will cut you where you stand!"

Olberic made another round at Miguel, swinging his Unbending Blade horizontally. The spear-man gracefully dodged the blow.

"Now that I think about it… that scar on yer head does match me own handiwork. Could've been me, coulda' not. Probably shoulda' asked Erhardt."

That was the last straw. Enraged, Olberic made a dramatic thrust into the lanky limber man, only for him to sidestep, delivering a few of his own that sent the attacker rolling backward in pain.

Therion, meanwhile, finally collected himself enough to stand. He traded his dagger for a gladius of his own, and took a stance opposite Miguel.

"You call yourself a thief? You're just a no-good rotten pile of filth!"

"Oh?" The antagonist turned to him. "Are you challenging me, tea leaf?"

 _Well, Therion. It looks like you and me are officially partners in crime._

All the Purple Thief could think about, when gazing upon the damned redhead in front of him, was the familiar face he knew all too well. When they locked eyes, he could only think of _him_. The way _he_ played on him. The way _he_ goaded him. The way _he_ took advantage of his idealism and trust. Only to toss it all away when it became convenient.

History repeated again. Save this time, it was happening to Alfyn. The kid was too young, too inexperienced in the world. He had a pure, unadulterated vision where he wasn't one to question trust in strangers. And yet this dirt-bag… he stole that innocence from him.

Never again.

"You're going to regret that."

"Aw, ain't that sweet? Are you gonna play hero too, bugger? For that poof at the base of the hill?"

"His name is Alfyn…"

Therion cocked his blade.

"He is no poof…"

Therion dug in his heels.

"He is my friend…"

Therion began to charge.

"…And you're gonna pay!"

Therion lunged once more at the merc, getting a good blow on his arm. Miguel winced in pain, and swiped his spears straight for the boy's abdomen. The bleached-hair man was forced to roll over in pain.

"Therion!"

The voice came from Alfyn, who finally returned to the battlefield.

"Look whose back, the medic without a sack!" Miguel cackled.

"You sure love those one-liners…" Alfyn groaned.

"Yer goin' down, kid. You should just stay there."

Not mincing words, Alfyn charged back into the line of fire. He swung his massive cleaver over his head, making direct contact with the blood-stained spears. Their power struggle continued for several seconds in a familiar stalemate.

"This didn't work fer the others."

"They didn't try this!"

With a free hand, Alfyn extended a palm directly in front of Miguel's face. The merc's eyes widened as blue crystals formed on it. The sudden cold chill forced him back, cupping his cheek from the magic.

"Ye fight dirty…" Miguel smirked. "'Fraid I can't let ye live, kid."

The redhead charged back at the Apothecary, dodging the next swing of his axe. He rounded to the side of the green-vested man, landing five direct thrusts on his body. Alfyn instantly collapsed in pain, screaming to high heaven. Miguel kicked him aside, letting his body roll over. He grinned at the sight of his latest victims, lying in the dirt. But then he saw Olberic, staggering back upwards.

"Why do you insist on trying?" The merc asked. "You've clearly grown soft over the years. Yer comrades are weak, too. Just look at 'em: the purple one's untrained, and Alfyn'll fall for anything!"

"I'm sorry to interject but-"

Cyrus had just shown up, shocked as any at the circumstance. Before anyone could respond, Miguel spied Olberic's spear on the ground. He quickly snatched it back up and lobbed it straight for the unwitting Scholar. It soared right through his cloak, pinning him high against a tree.

"Ngh!" Cyrus cried. "Get me down from here!"

"Now, that was easy." With that business taken care of, Miguel turned back to Olberic. "You an' me, we ain't that much different, ye know."

"I am nothing like you!" Olberic retorted with the highest level of prejudice.

"Not at all, eh? We're both warriors, Twinspears and the Unbending Blade, known solely for the life-stealin' stick in our hands. Wanderin' the land without a cause. We're both bloodthirsty killers, or want-to-be ones at least."

"You know nothing of what I am, Miguel!"

"I don't? Why do you swing that big blade, ye old bag?"

"I... I..."

"You know what, ye stutterin' knave? I don't care!" Miguel shifted his weight into another fighting stance, letting his left side lean forward to guard his right. "Well, there is one thing that separates us. I don't pretend I'm all high-and-mighty when I go for the kill!"

Miguel made another lightning-fast thrust at Olberic, who avoided most of the impalement by dodging. He maneuvered through several attacks, preparing his own sword to strike in retaliation.

"You… will tell… me… where… Erhardt… is…!"

Olberic engaged him once again, this time with more ferocity, more vigor. Miguel was able to counteract each of his moves, but each blow grew heavier and heavier on him. He could smell the adrenaline rush from the blue warrior. Sensing his chance, he swiveled backwards against one of his lunges, only to be faked out, and knocked over by a cross strike.

Miguel was now on his knees, helplessly staring down Olberic.

Olberic, meanwhile, was entirely consumed by rage. He raised his sword, and blue swirls of energy surrounded him. He felt all of his power, everything he ever learned, swirl into the vortex of his blade. He held the blade high.

"I surrender! Have mercy!" Miguel cried in vain, raising one of his hands in a futile attempt to shield him from the blow.

"I wreak havoc upon th- Agh!"

In the ultimate upset, Olberic forcibly dropped his blade and grabbed his right arm. The reasons for this pain were unknown. But if he were a betting man, it was his mind moving too fast for his body yet again, and his muscles cramped from overexertion. The known known was that his "finisher" was gimped, and Miguel jumped up to take advantage of the situation.

The merc impaled the knight five times in the chest, which sent him tumbling downwards. He laughed as he did so and shook some blood off the spearheads.

"And here I thought I was gonna meet my end! Life is good!"

"Oh… yeah…?"

Miguel turned to his side, seeing Alfyn, crawling in the dirt. He pulled himself with one arm, while holding his axe with the other. Blood-stained cuts dotted his body, with dirt blending into the wounds. The redhead knelt down out of pity, pulling the apothecary's head up by grabbing the hair to make eye-contact.

"And what am I gonna do with you, kid? You just won't die. What are ye gonna do? Bleed on me? It's yer last minutes, make 'em count." His grip tightened on the hair, making the young man scream in pain. "Its gullible guys like you that make the world go 'round. For every lamb like you, there's a wolf like me lookin' for his next meal, and I got ye to thank for keepin' me full. Ye weakness is my strength." By now, Miguel had brought Alfyn, dangling by the hair, a full span off the ground.

"Behind every charitable fool, is a sword pointed at 'em to take what's rightfully his. 'Tis life."

Miguel traded his signature spears for another weapon on his person: his thief's dagger. The blade was much more precise than the overbearing toothpicks in his hands, and could be efficiently weld with one hand. Higher did he pull Alfyn's hair, until the young apothecary was just above eye-level for the mercenary. He pressed the edge of his dagger to Alfyn's neck, preparing to savor his meal.

"I'd love to play with me food, but I got things to do, a life to live: something you won't have much longer."

Alfyn and Zeph made a promise to each other the day they both became apothecaries. They would do no harm to their patients, no matter the cost. But that was before he met Miguel, and the cruelty that one man could induce. He wanted to live by his morals, but to do so would mean letting this man run free, and…

Tim.

In the heat of their battle, they forgot Tim! He had to drop his moralizing, his stance: If he just stood by, the boy would die. It wasn't a question of if he could act, or were he capable of acting. The question was greater than his capacity, or suggestion, to heal a certain individual. Nay, lying face down in the dirt would ensure the boy's death: the boy who did nothing to warrant his fate. Alfyn's action, successful action, was mandated. Nothing less would be acceptable.

"This… is my… Last… Stand!"

Alfyn rapidly shifted his hands to the handle of his axe. He swung the instrument directly into Miguel's torso, slicing the bandages and knocking him back. The merc got down on one knee, cupping his injuries.

"Ughhhhh…"

Miguel slumped down, lying face-first in the dirt.

"The battle's over…" Olberic said. He walked over to the fallen body of the mercenary, and knelt down. He violently grabbed Miguel by the cloak to shake answers out of him, to find what he knew of Erhardt, but dead men tell no tales. The knight ran his hands through the fallen one's possessions, until he found the familiar sight from earlier. He ripped the item from its binding, and examined it in his hands.

Olberic dug into his own pocket, retrieving a similar-colored black chip. He brought the two pieces together, to see if they would fit.

They were a perfect match.

Upon closer inspection, the now completed medallion was a dark diamond with an engraved outer outline. It was defined simply by the letter "B" in the center. Its translation was irrelevant, but its meaning meant everything.

' _After all these years, you've finally been avenged._ ' Olberic thought.

Alfyn rushed over to Tim, examining his wounds. The boy was in rough shape, but it wasn't anything he couldn't solve on his own. He took the boy in his own arms and retrieved Zeph's satchel for their return to town. Therion, likewise, returned to his feet, this time helping Cyrus get back to the ground.

Cyrus wiggled himself, eventually breaking the hold he was in… along with Olberic's spear.

Olberic turned to the dead body of Miguel, and spied the spears. The selfsame spears that inflicted those emotional wounds all those years ago, now reborn to bring misery and destruction upon other innocents. Nothing would bring him more joy than to see these accursed polearms broken, never to inflict harm again.

But the spears were innocent. It was the one who weld them that did the deed, and he paid the ultimate price. Damning these spears to an eternal association with the damned, without any hope for redemption, was unfair. If he, the last true knight of Hornburg, was permitted the chance at redemption by avenging the fall of his king and kingdom after his greatest failure, why should the spear of a wicked mercenary, the weapon that inflicted emotional catastrophes that affected him personally, not get the same chance to reclaim it's identity and place in the world?

Olberic picked up the remaining intact spear, and sheathed it on his person.

* * *

Much time passed and Alfyn remained at Tim's bedside, closely monitoring his vitals. One morning, Timothy finally woke up, fresh as a bird, and warmly embraced Daphne once again. She thanked the medicine man, who in turn gave a half-baked smile. Sure, he was happy that everything worked out, but it still didn't shake what he had done.

None of this would have happened, had he not gotten involved.

Meanwhile, Ophilia and the girls were able to find both Emil and Derryl. They huddled together in the heart of the Murkwood, with Derryl telling Emil to forget about the brooch: he valued his friend more. They escorted the boys back to the town intact, without any bloodshed on their part. Aside from the occasional rabid squirrel, there wasn't any outrageous beast that tried to haggle them.

Now that was a success story. If only Alfyn's own were as gilded.

Just as he was getting ready to leave town, he caught Ogen on his way out as well, his work being "done." Alfyn stopped him and posed the question that bugged him the entire day.

"By saving a robber's life, I put an innocent boy's in danger. And in the end I gave in. Did what I had to… and bloodied my own hands. If I had it to do over, what could I have done different? Was I too naive, to do what I did? My mind goes in circles, and I still can't find the answer."

Ogen mulled a response. "Life is nothing but a series of choices. Our job's the same. We have to decide what's worth keeping, and what should be thrown away. You made a poor choice – it's that simple."

' _But that poor choice had consequences!'_

Ogen informed Alfyn of the days of his own youth. A time when he was as free-spirited and optimistic as the younger man. But he too faced a deep betrayal not unlike Alfyn's, one that resulted in the loss of his beloved, one that set him on an endless journey away from home. As he reflected on the times that steeled his heart, Alfyn couldn't help but feel solidarity with him. What point was there in healing individuals who would go and cause more harm that required triage? If bad things happen to good people, why should good things happen to the bad?

"Those hands of yours can shape the world – think before you use them." These words rebounded inside Alfyn's psyche. To hear such pain in those intonations… there was no tonic to cure them. Ogen started again before leaving. "There was another who practiced his craft the way you do…"

"I just don't know…"

Alfyn felt a firm hand on his shoulders, waking him up from his trace. It was Therion again.

"Look, about what happened…" he started.

"No need to explain, Therion. I've grasped it completely."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Okay? I'll be more than that."

"And here I thought you needed to grieve."

"No… I just need to think some things over. I'm going to take a break from my trade for a while… Don't worry about me too much."

The Apothecary ran forward, meeting up with the patiently-waiting caravan at the top of the hill.

The moment he caught sight of Olberic, Alfyn pulled him aside.

"What is it, Alfyn?"

"Answer me one question, Olberic." The man wiped away a tear, which fortunately didn't catch the warrior's note. "Was that... back there... anything like the fairy tales I hear about? Give it to me straight."

Olberic exhaled deeply. "I learned one rule in the barracks, during my training. One does not inquire on how sausages, or tales of gallantry, are made."

"Being a hero sucks, ain't that the truth."

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you once again for reading this chapter.

I wasn't sure if this chapter was going to be too long. I considered breaking it up into two parts to make it more digestible, but I felt it would be better to consolidate it into one large excerpt, and also so I wouldn't appear to be padding for more chapter pages. Feel free to comment if it's too long or heavy to read so I know how to condense them for next time.

Anyways, I've got more amusing ones in the works. This one was exceptionally dark, but it's more of a trial balloon for what's in store. But that's enough rambling from me.

Happy trails!


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